


The bird that flies low

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Apocalypse, Bi!Dean, Drama, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other, Romance, Thriller, slow-built
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 66,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6718834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens to a bird that flies low, and why would it choose to fly low when it has the whole sky to its disposal?<br/>Castiel would know. Because when a spell sends him hitting the ground, he chooses not to get up. And from there, the whole sky falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The lonely shepherd

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think this story is deep and complex, but it only probably is in my mind. And sorry for any type of error. All the editing had been done half-heartedly because I really hate re-reading my works.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimpse into the future.

The city smelled like misery and holy oil.

You would think a world hit by terror would smell like blood and gunpowder. But normal guns were useless in a battle where the enemy only perished by bullets cast from "angelic fuel", as Dean liked to call it. Sometimes they'd slow them down with holy oil filled bomb bottles.

After midnight, his crew went out on yet another food run. After midnight was the best time for those kind of things. The darkness provided more coverage. On the downside, it also meant less visibility. In spite of that, the end of a night would always end up more successful than the end of a day. They would gather more supplies, encounter less winged bastards, lose less men in the crossfire.

The city had an eerie air to it. Most, if not all, people in their vicinity were dead already. The angels were cruel.

At first there had been sides: good angels and bad angels; some wanting to escape and live freely like humans did, others trying to put the leash back on them. Dean was not sure which side had gone extinct in the end. Maybe it was safe to say that chaos was the only true victor.

Thirst for freedom had turned into a need to invade and conquer, a selfish desire to have the blue planet for themselves.

And so the Armageddon began.

The ones who were supposed to be sheperds became exterminators; intruders walking around in costumes of the people they had killed, wearing masks, replicas of their faces. Monsters that looked like humans when they were really something else.

They lurked. They have been lurking for so long they forgot why they'd put their foot on Earth in the first place: choice, emotion, entertainment, pleasure - all forgotten. The only thing left: an instinct to butcher any man they encountered like machines programmed to do so.

They were no longer angels, but fallens.

"This is their punishment." Castiel told Dean one day.

"Their punishment how? It feels like us, people, are the ones being punished here."

That wasn't just metaphoric. "Falling" was a sickness, a punishment set by God for those who rebelled.

In Dean's humble opinion, God was an asshole. What God should have done was, he should have taken his children back home where he could have given them a good slap on their asses and a lecture.

What He should not have done was What He did. He'd let the flying monkeys do whatever they wanted, he'd given them free will at the cost of falling. They'd taken it, ruining humanity in the process.

God reminded him of his own old man. He was the type of father who never lectured. The type of Father who would let you fuck up, knowing that after you'd fucked up, and you realized you had, you would go back to him on your knees, crying. He would only look at you with disappointment, but he wouldn't say a damn thing. He was the type of father who let your own consciousness be your punishment.

The problem was that His children had never realized they were wrong. They had never asked for His forgiveness. They never would. Dean knew.

"Clear!" Claire announced. The streets were clear, no angels in sight. Hopefully, no angels for the rest of the night.

Dean Winchester was in charge. He was the leader of them all. The Shepherd. He made sure everyone knew their place and their job. He made the calls. He had earned it, and despite being the best shooter, it had nothing to do with that. Not his skills, but his personality was what kept everyone in their seats.

People like a leader who is courageous and untouchable - relatable without being very personal. He must be imposing. Cool-headed, but not too cool-headed. That would make him soft. He must gain respect, he should stir fear as well as admiration.

A good leader is a foreman, but a great leader is an icon.

Dean Winchester was a great fucking leader.

The world was dying, but he felt alive. Dean found a purpose in fighting for his people. He had never felt like he belonged more than he did now. And he wasn't going to let that feeling slip away.

"Brother, seems like we’ve been blessed with a peaceful night this time ‘round." Benny said.

"‘Blessed’ isn’t the word I’d use." Dean replied. His voice had turned a shade harsher over time.

"Yeah, yeah... I know."

Benny Laffite was one of the people Dean really trusted. And he didn't trust a lot. They met just after the angels had started to fall, back when the sky was still luminous, not constantly gloomy as a girl on the verge of crying. They'd been through a lot of shit together, however, the person Dean trusted the most was actually his little brother. Sam was his right hand, the second in command - and the most important person in Dean's life alongside... well, alongside Castiel. But he would prefer to deny he still considered Castiel important. It was easier that way.

There was also Claire - Claire Novak - who was like a protegee to him. She was only a kid with ripped jeans and heavy metal playing in her head constantly, but she was fierce. Ambitious. Dean had seen himself in the fire in her eyes so he decided to take her under his wing and teach her how to shoot right.

He laughed to himself realizing his best shooters were all women: Claire, Charlie, Jo, Jody, Frankie...

Charlie Bradbury was also part of The Holy Trinity of geniuses composed of herself, Kevin and Ash. Interesting how well Kevin and Charlie worked together. Kevin was the architect, whereas Charlie was the engineer - he came with the plan, she made it come true. Ash was more of a solitary guy, the true definition of a "mad genius" - messy, daffy, liked alcohol too much.

About Jo and Jody, Jody used to be a sheriff so she knew her way around guns. Jo's father was Dean's hunting buddy. Just like Dean, she'd picked up on a few tricks along the way.

Dean had some people he cared about a lot back at the camp, but he couldn't afford to let that be a known fact. Because being a leader meant being impartial, professional. At least that's how he saw it.

Dean’s train of thought was jumped by a high-pitched call. The voice was Frankie’s. He and Benny started to run towards the direction of the scream. Claire and the new guy, Henriksen, did the same. They found Frankie in a garage whose gate was barely passable. It seemed stuck like that.

Frankie was not alone.

She was kneeling beside a woman holding her kid tight. They both looked miserable, the son more than the mother.

"My child is sick, please!" She cried.

"She’s not an angel." Frankie confirmed.

You see, Frankie Holland was an interesting case. She was an aspiring writer and the only one capable of seeing an angel’s true form. She was very useful on supply runs because that way they could avoid shooting "real" humans by accident. At first, the girl could only tell them apart by wings. Then she began seeing them as a whole.

Dean took a few steps closer, asking for a name.

"Vallery. My name is Vallery. My child, my only... Help us, please." Heavy tears began rolling down her dirty cheeks. The desperation in her eyes was something so common it was sad.

"What’s wrong with him?"

"He’s going to die, that’s what." A voice said.

Dean frowned, his eyes meeting its owner: a man sitting in a dark corner with a resigned expression on his face.

"Don’t say that!" The woman yelled at him. She immediately turned back to Dean, saying: "It started as fever. We didn’t have any medicine. We couldn’t go outside either. It only got worse. He had a seizure earlier, and now... He doesn’t move or - or respond. I don’t know what’s happening!"

"Don’t worry, m’am. We’ll help you." Dean checked the boy’s wrist for pulse.

The unnamed man snapped: "Like hell you would!"

"It’s not like I’m gonna beg you. You could sit on your ass all day or you could get up come with us. Pick one."

"That’s meningitis and it’s already too late for it to be treated. I’m a doctor and I know. I just... know."

"We have everything we need back at our camp."

"Oh yeah? You have sanitary environment at that camp of yours? Anticonvulsants? Corticosteroids, mechanical ventilation?"

"No." Dean said calmly. "But we have something better than any of that, doc."

"What?"

"An angel."

Both the doctor and his presumably wife (Dean just assumed they were married) became pale. Feeling threatened, Vallery tried to crawl away. Dean didn’t let her.

"He will help."

"An angel helping us. That's a joke, isn't it?" The doctor replied.

"I'm afraid not."

"This one's different." Claire told them.

"Lewis." Vallery threw the guy a pleading look as if silently saying "Let’s go with them.".

The family chose return with Dean’s crew to the camp.

Bringing new faces there wasn’t something new - just rare. There were about sixty souls calling an enclosed stadium painted in anti-angel sigils "home". They knew each other well, slept in military tents, and ate on the bleachers. Sometimes they would lay down on the artificial grass, look up at the ceiling and pretend they could see the stars.

Only the "crews", teams composed of the most physically fit people at the camp, left the stadium. There were three crews, including Dean’s. He had assigned Jo and Sam as the leaders of the other two. The crews would take turns, going on supply runs every Monday.

The gates closed behind them, screeching. Dean had dismissed the others, and rushed the child to the medical room (referred to as "the infirmary"). Meg was already there, ready to answer for Castiel’s absence in that sassy way of hers.

"I’m not your boyfriend’s babysitter, go find him yourself."

"Meg."

Meg rolled her dark brown eyes. "Fine, I’m going." She was one meter and a half of bad attitude and bad jokes. Dean only kept her around because she was useful. Being a nurse, she helped by taking care of those who happened to suffer minor injuries or developed any easy health issues.

Dean had made it a rule that Castiel only used his grace on those in critical conditions. Being the saint he was, both literally and figuratively, Castiel would often bend the rules though. Using his healing powers repetitively would not have been a problem if he didn’t have to periodically give up bits of his grace to produce bullet material for the guns. It would leave him weak each time he'd do it, and the regeneration would usually slow down if he healed someone in the process.

A few minutes later, Meg came back with the angel. He passed by everyone in the room, as if oblivious of their presence. There has always been a specific arrogance in the way he held his head too high and his so voice low.

In that particular moment he looked tired, maybe a bit blue, too. Dean noticed the fine details - he always did when it came to Castiel. It was a curse.

With concern in their eyes, the parents watched the angel walk straight to their dying son.

He covered his forehead with his palm, and white light slipped through his long fingers.

Soon, the boy opened his eyes. He was cured, and a smile, really just a side effect of being touched by an angel, grew on his face.


	2. The end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the real beginning.

There was a place in the state of Massachusetts - a place so wild, buried in the mountains, beyond the old pines, and across the deep blue lake. It was a place so raw and quiet, where nothing seemed real because everything was fine.

The soil was golden and mellow, and the sky felt closer, and when it rained, the wounds bled out the poison and healed. When it snowed, the forest went white like a mind going blank. A place where you got to forget.

The small log cabin was longing for him like a neglected lover - wating, anticipating, still soaked in a strong smell of cinnamon-spiced mulled wine and ash, a scent he associated with Christmas. Memories laid within every dusty corner, ready to be reanimated.

The road was long and bumpy, but Dean Winchester was one to believe that as long as the destination was worth it, it didn’t really matter how you got there. He had been driving for nine hours in his, formerly his fathers, coal-black Chevrolet Impala when he took a break to strech his limbs. Knowing it would take a while to get to the cabin, he had stuffed the car with chocolate bars and pie and all sorts of energy drinks.

At times, along the way, he would feel a lump crawling up his chest into his throat, only to remain stuck in there. If it became too insistent, the man would shove it back down his throat, back into the bottom of his chest, with food and drinks. If he didn’t, the lump would continue its journey and place itself behind his sinuses, breaking into a cry. He tried to ignore the voices in head by singing along the tunes of his favorite heavy metal bands.

It was past midnight when he arrived.

There were no people around, no other houses - just unpolluted air, trees, the lake, the old cabin that his father had bought when he was twelve. His brother was eight. After their mother had passed away, their father took them there, saying: Nature heals anything..

Afterwards, they kept coming back. The cabin hidden in the core of the mountains turned into a second home, maybe even something more. Dean would have never thought that a place so secluded, so empty could fill him up, and make him whole again. His dad was right. Nature worked wonders.

Dean was once again ready to take its hand and let it nurture his tired body, his scared soul, his turbulent mind.

His bones began to tremble as he pushed the door open and entered the cabin. It had been years but it looked exactly the same: the ugly burgundy carpets spread on the woodfloor, the uglier lace curtains shielding the windows, his father’s multicolored vintage jukebox, dormant in corner.

That place was the place where he'd been given his first gun.

He'd shot down a deer and his daddy had looked at him with such pride in the eye… He was a mechanic, but hunting has been running in the family for centuries. Therefore, John Winchester was a hunter at heart. Sam had never lived up to John’s expectations. He had always vehemently refused to approach any type of weapon. Dean used to make fun of him because of that. He and Sam never got along when they were kids. The boys started getting close only after they were both old enough to know better than waste their time fighting over nothing.

-

Dean could barely breathe because of the amount of dust inside the cabin. He opened all the windows and unpacked his bags carelessly. He had only packed the basics: change clothes and towels, soap, a toothbrush, alongside his laptop to keep busy. He had also brought his favorite rifle. It was hunting season.

Dean had no idea how long he would be staying. All he knew was that he had to get away, to forget, to heal, no matter how much time that required.

He fell asleep with a glass of unfinished beer in his hand, shortly after his arrival.

-

He woke up with a sore back and a mild headache. Sleeping in an uncomfortable creaky armchair for twelve hours straight was never a good idea. After a cold shower, Dean took his Marlin 336 - "a classic" - and lost himself into the woods, hoping that hunting would take his mind off the nightmare he had the night before. It was the same damn nightmare every time.

_He, Lisa and Ben are having dinner. They are happy, as far as he can tell. Lisa turns to him with a smile, saying something, but Dean can not quite figure out what - but she seems happy, so it doesn’t matter. Her big, beautiful eyes are shining, while her soft palm finds its way to cup his cheek endearingly._

_Suddenly it’s dark._

_Dean is outside with the key in his hand when he realizes he won’t need it. The front door is open. Taking a closer look, he can see the doorlock broken._

_Did someone break inside?_

_He dares to peak inside. His eyes capture a gruesome image: the hall is painted in red. Lisa is standing there, right in front of him, dressed in white satin, alluring and terrifying, emanating vengeful pungence. There is a growing stain of blood in the middle of her abdomen; the echo of the dripping in the silence of the night is deafening. Her eyes are no longer bright ,or kind, or loving. Her touch, the texture of her skin… it still lingers on Dean’s cheek.  
He shivers. _

_“I told you to come home, Dean.” She says, her voice sounding distant and cold. “Why didn’t you come home?” She asks, breaking into a lifeless cry._

_“Lis, I am sorry. I am so sorry.” Dean whispers sadly._

_He can not breathe._

_He just can not breathe._

_The look in Lisa’s eyes is cruel, and it breaks his heart._

_“I was waiting for you to come home, Dean. But you never did.”_

_“I know.” He is on the verge of tears._

_“Look at my face when I am talking to you, Dean!” The corners of her mouth start bleeding._

_Her whole frail body is suddenly covered in bruises and scratches._

_“I can’t… ”_

_“Look at me, you son of a bitch! You did this to me!”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

The nightmare usually ended there, with Dean waking up feeling miserable.

After an hour or so, he spotted a white-tailed deer, tall and graceful, drinking from a small creek. He lowered himself, taking the kneeling position and pointing the rifle towards the target.

Over years, Dean had become a gun expert. Handguns, shotguns, rifles... They all sounded different based on the action type, barrel length and ammo used. His model of rifle created the perfect sound - the kind of sound a good ‘ol rifle should: loud, powerful, clear. An immaculate mid-1960’s Marlin 336 chambered in .30-30 Winchester sounded sharper than an A-bolt 3 and sweeter than a Lee Enfield. To Dean, it also sounded like his childhood hunts.

The moment he was sure of his shot, he did not hesistate to squeeze the trigger. The sound that followed echoed through the entire forest.

He missed.

He was surprised, to say at least, because he wasn’t used to missing the target. But somehow the deer had sprinted away before the bullet got to pierce its brain, and Dean had almost followed the creature deeper into the woods, but before he could do so, a cold breeze had made him shiver from head to toe. The grey clouds gathering above his head could only mean one thing: upcoming rain.

“Shit.” Dean had completely lost the track of space and time, and he had no chance of getting back to the cabin in time now.

The rain caught up with him quickly, and as a result he started sneezing and cursing like there was no tomorrow. He was wearing light clothing: a plaid yellow shirt , old jeans ripped at the knees, work boots. The water touched every inch of body, he felt the cold in his every pore.

It was only after he saw the cabin in the distance that he felt relief. However, as he aproached the door, an odd sensation rushed through his veins, making him feel dizzy for a second. His hand grasped the doorknob, twisting it. Then he saw her.

“Lisa?” Dean almost fell backwards. His brain couldnt register what his eyes were seeing.

There she was, standing there, greeting him from the shadows, just like in his dream. In the dim light she was merely a faceless silhouette of a woman so thin, and so elegant.

“You are late to dinner.”

“No… This can’t be…Youre not- ”

“It’s me, Dean. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Where… where is Ben?”

There was muffled thunder on the background of their dialogue. At that point, Dean was freezing , skin numb and wet, so he blamed the drop in his body temperature for messing with his head. She couldn’t be real, she was gone. But that was no dream either. He had to be hallucinating although there was so much doubt in his heart that told him otherwise.

“Ben is upstairs." She began to approach him, her walk slow and confident, and when she stopped, her features were finally distinguishable. Her slender fingers caressed Dean’s neck until they reached his right shoulder, squeezing it lightly. 

Everything about her was beautiful as always, the man noticed: her dark hair cascading all over her olive shoulders, her starry eyes, her high cheekbones… She even smelled the same, like orange blossom and honey. She was beautiful but the words that came out of her mouth were tragic: "...lying in a pool of blood. You know that. That is your last memory of him, isn't it?" Dean felt sick to his stomach. He felt the need to run and hide, but he found himself petrified.

There was a growing stain of blood in the middle of Lisa’s abdomen, turning the pure white of her dress into rich red. In spite of that, she looked unbothered.

"Shut up." He demanded breathlessly.

"Dean, honey-"

"I said shut up. This is not real. You are not the real Lisa. So don’t pretend to be. I’ve been living the same nightmare for four months and that’s enough to know how to tell the difference between... Between this and reality. I'm no fool. Get out of my head!"

The woman went silent. She looked rather confused, like she didn’t really understand what had been required of her. Then she looked sympathetic.

"I can't."

"Can’t or won't?"

"I can't." She repeated.

"Why the fuck not?"

"My dear, don't you get it? I can't leave because it’s you who won’t let me walk out that door. You'll never give up on me and Ben. Ever. And that is your problem. As long as I exist inside your heart, I exist inside your head."

"Stay inside then."

Dean turned around, and as soon as he found himself outside he locked the door behind him. Closing his eyes, he let out a breath he had been holding for a long time.

Many thoughts were running through his mind, one of them being that he might have to sleep in the car because he couldn't go back there, not now.

A distant voice of a child called his name and his eyes flew open.

Looking over his right shoulder, he gasped. He was no longer in Massachusetts, that was for sure. He looked back at the cabin - it was not there anymore.

Night had turned to day, and it was too warm outside. April warm. He was sitting on a bench in a park that looked familiar. He was confident it was not October anymore.

A soccer ball lazily rolled its way to Dean, and it slightly hit the tip of his boot. He kept staring at it, and only stopped when he heard his name being called again: _Dean!_

"Dean, hurry up or we’re leaving without you." It was Ben. Dean frowned, confused. He was slowly losing the touch with reality.

"What?"

"I said hurry up." Ben paused and muttered something under his breath. That was the moment Dean’s reflexes, or whatever was left of his parental instincts, kicked in.

"...jackass."

"Hey, hey, watch your mouth now, pal!"

"Sorry. Hurry up, will ya?"

"Where are we going?"

"You’re bluffing." The kid looked dead-serious. Dean just frowned harder.

"My game?" Ben said as a matter of fact.

"Wait a second..." It hit him. It was the day they died. April 26th. Six hours before it happened. He remembered that moment, everything that had happened before and everything that followed.

It was the day Ben’s soccer team had played their final game in the Junior League and won. Lisa was very excited. All three of them agreed to celebrate at home where she would have baked -- where she had baked Bens favorite cake. Dean and Ben were brickering over what type of pizza to order and what movie to watch when his phone rang. Dean regretted getting that call.

He didn’t want to play along with that memory because he knew what was coming next. He would leave Lisa and Ben, telling them "It's work. But, hey, Ill be back home as soon as possible. Start the party without me." Lisa would nod and start the car.

"Earth to Dean!"

"I am - yeah. Did you say something?"

Ben rolled his eyes.

"I said mom must be waiting for us in the parking lot, and she can be pretty scary after you’ve made her wait more than 5 minutes, you should know that. Or after you’ve eaten the dessert before dinner."

"That was one time."

"That’s all the time."

"You’re always a smartass, aren’t you?"

"Like you don’t know me."

"You go ahead, I’ll catch up."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I’m sure." Dean smiled although it was a smile that hid great pain and sorrow. He watched Ben walk away. It was the last time he would him alive.

In a blink of an eye he was back in the forest. Back in the rain, all soaked and freezing to the bones, rifle in his right hand.

He was angry - mostly at himself. The guilt was eating him alive. He should have been there to protect them from the intruder. He should have listened to Lisa the first two times she called, asking him to come back home.

He was also angry at God. Deep inside, he felt like he had been wronged in so many ways. He longed for justice, but he was too tired to claim it.   
He was too damn tired.

Dean had always been a warrior, having no patience or respect for whiners, defeatists, quitters... But in that particular moment, death sounded nicer than ever. It seemed like the only thing capable of bringing him peace after everything else had failed. That cabin was his sacred place, his personal heaven, his last resort, and that... had failed, too.

Dean pulled the phone out his pocket and looked at the signal: weak, but it was there. He dialed Sam’s number. It rang 3 times, and then: _"Hi, this is Sam. I can’t come to the phone right now so please leave a message after the beep."_

_Beeeeep!_

"Hey, Sammy. It’s me., Dean took a deep breath. I, well, I guess I’m calling to say goodbye and... I don’t know, man. Truth is, I’m kind of glad you didn’t pick up." A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "That’s because I know you, and I know you would’ve tried to stop me, and you would’ve made everything so much harder for me. I might have listened. But right now, I don’t need to listen to any persuasive heart-to-heart crap. I’m no longer the man I used to be and I honestly don’t think I will ever be that man again. I’m broken. I’m done. I’m so sorry."

Dean's hand was shaking uncontrollably. Hot, salty tears began to roll down his cheeks unremittingly as he closed his eyes for a second, grimacing.

Suddenly, his phone hit the ground, breaking into pieces.

The muzzle of the rifle ended up right under his chin.

He pulled the trigger.

Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. This is the same story as the previous chapter. What will happen to Dean? Hmmmm...


	3. Death is not the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not for Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Um. I'm a very messy, very inadequate writer. Sometimes I miss a lot of errors when editing. Sorry?

Dean opened his eyes, not realizing, at first, the miracle that laid within such a mundane action.

It took him a minute to fully wake up. Last night started to come back in bits and pieces. It hit him. He should not have been alive and yet there he was - in his bed, well and rested, like nothing ever happened.

He ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror. There was no wound under his chin. What was he expecting? If the bullet carved a hole into his flesh, he would not have been alive to see it.

The weather seemed nice looking through the window. The sun was radiating. Dean touched the glass, and his palm met an incredible warmth. It was almost burning, making it hard to believe that only hours ago, an awfully cold rainstorm had caught him in the middle of a hunt.

He checked the time. Something appeared to be wrong with his digital watch. It displayed 4:44 am, but that couldn’t be accurate, could it? It was too bright outside.

It couldn’t be true.

There was sweat at the top of his forehead, and his lungs where pumped with hot air. All that light and the heat made him drunk with nostalgia.

He slipped into a spiral of memory.

He was eleven again at his parent’s house, and it was summer - late August, to be more specific. The building stood in its stillness, its shadow veiling him completely. He could hear the twist of a wrench.

Summer meant rest for kids, never for adults. His father would always be in the garage, fixing someone’s car, sometimes Baby when her screws would loosen. His mother would be working in the morning. In the afternoon she would watch him and Sam play from the porch as an apple pie would bake in the oven. She used to cook like a goddess. She even looked like one with her long blonde hair and genuine smile...

Dean ran to the kitchen and was shocked to discover the clock there had also stopped ticking at 4:44.

On the table, he found his rifle and his phone, carefully placed one next to the other. Dean was pretty sure the last time he’d seen it, the thing was dismembered and covered in mud.

Who put all the pieces back together?

Who made him whole again?

Was everything just a dream?

Maybe he didn’t actually kill himself.

He threw the phone into the back pocket of his jeans and picked the rifle up instead. No cartridge. Something told Dean to check the rest of his ammunition. As he had predicted, the container was empty. All of it, gone.

Perhaps he was still dreaming.

"...Wait a second." Dean unlocked his phone and his heart skipped a beat. The time read 4:44 am.  
Perhaps it was just a lame prank some prick had pulled on him.

Dean moved around a bit, trying to shake the creeps off his edges. Then he took a deep breath and opened his "Call Logs".

Last contact dialled: "Sam", October 16th, 11:39 pm

He did make that call. And Sam did call him back afterwards. He also left him a few vocal messages.

_Vocal message number 1, left on October 17th, 01:03 am, from 1-988-784-3078: "Dean, hear me out. Don’t do anything stupid or - stupider than you’d usually do. I’m serious. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise. We’ll figure something out like we always do. Where are you? Are you home? Just, please, hold on, alright? I am coming over."_

_Vocal message number 2, left on October 17th, 01:14 am, from 1-988-784-3078: "Listen, I know what you’re dealing with. I know you loved Lisa and Ben, and I know you feel guilty about what happened to them, but taking your own life is not an option. This won’t solve anything. You aren’t thinking this through. This is not the Dean I know. The Dean I know would rather fight his way out than leave through the back door. That’s what you’re doing right now, Dean. This isn’t escaping, it’s called just running away. That’s what cowards do. You told me that."_

_Vocal message number 3, left on October 17th, 01:40 am, from 1-988-784-3078: "I swear to God, Dean. Pick up the damn phone."_

Nothing made sense much.

Dean could come up with so many different explanations and theories, but in the end, nothing made sense.

The prologue and the epilogue didn’t match. The key was a story unknown to him. Before digging deeper for the plot, he had to inform his brother he was fine and all. The boy had probably gone nuts by now. It only took a few seconds for his Sam to answer.

"Dean?"

Dean hadn’t realized how much he missed his voice. Sam’s timbre was something so familiar, so soothing to his ears. Sometimes he could hear their mother in the undertones, and in the way he pronounced certain words just like her. Dean had never told him that. Maybe he should have. Then again, would he care? Sam had ever known their mother like he had.

"The one and only." Dean answered, tongue-in-cheek. Despite being the eldest, he’d never been very wise. He would always mock and joke, and turn drama into satire. A defense mechanism in the shape of a very dark, very ironic, very sad sense of humour.

Sam sighed, relieved.

"If I were with you right now I would punch you in that smug face of yours. What the hell happened? Are you alright? Are you hurt? You scared the crap out of me. Where in the world are you, anyway?"

"Whoa! One question at a time, dude. Yes, I am fine. I have no idea how but yeah."

"What do you mean?"

"I, uh, killed myself."

"You mean you tried to kill yourself."

"I mean I literally blew my fucking brains out and chipped off. Dropped dead. Bit the big cookie."

"Come again?"

"Listen to me, Sammy. Something very, very weird is going on. I died. Now I’m back from the dead."

"Like a zombie."

"No, you dumbass, like me. Like I was before. Nothing’s changed. Well, except..."

"Except what?"

Silence.

"Dean, except what?"

"What time is it?"

"About 9 am or something. Why?"

"Every clock in here stopped at 4:44 in the morning and... a-and it’s like 100 degrees outside, the cabin smells different, all my ammo is gone, I woke up-"

"Wait. Cabin? Our "vacantion house" cabin in Massachusetts? Did you drive 25 hour-"

"That’s not the point!"

"I’m sorry, Dean, but all I hear is a bunch of random things that don’t make any sense, and have nothing in common. What are you even tryin’ to say? Someone stole your ammo? And what about the cabin smelling funny? It always smelled funny to me. Old wood, plus-"

"I didn’t say ‘funny’, I said ‘different’."

"Different how?"

"Not funny, definitely not funny. It actually smells, I don’t know... better? Clean. Like ‘just washed my hair 3 time in a row with baby shampoo’ clean, ‘bleached the laundry’, ‘fresh-cut grass’ clean."

"Um. Okay?"

"Don’t make that face!"

"What face? You can’t even see my face."

"That face when you’re silently questioning my sanity."

"Right. Well, it’s not like you can blame me, given the circumstances."

"Thanks."

"Hey, I think you should come home and rest."

"Oh, I am resting."

"Yeah, sure. But seriously."

"No. Wait - home? Is that where you are at now? Home as in our parent’s house? Home as in Kansas? Shouldn’t you be on campus, reading a book or whatever you do at Stanford?"

"Not that it matters, but I was reading a book when you called. It was about personal growth and financial success, and it was interesting. Anyway. Since I had no idea where the hell you were, I wanted to be here in case you decided to show up... somewhere. Will I get in trouble for leaving without notifying my supervisor? Absolutely."

"Peachy."

Sam snorted.

"You do seem okay after all."

"I feel alright - not happy, not sad - just right. It’s weird."

"Why is it weird?"

"Think about it. When was the last time I was alright?"

"True that."

Dean frowned.

He was happy to hear his brother’s voice, but something was not right. Sam was too calm. Sure, Sam had always been a calm persom. A calm, wholesome guy, with a balanced lifestyle - eating only salads, going to the gym weekly, and solving puzzles for fun. Regardless, something in the tone of his voice put Dean off.

He didn’t really know what. Perhaps it was the fact that Sam barely reacted when Dean told him he had died and come back. Or the fact he’d chosen to wait around the corner and read rather than search for him, even after listening to Dean’s suicide note.

Dean was not judging him, no, he just found that strange.

"So, what now?"

"You go back to school, I guess. I’ll go make myself a sandwich."

"You plan on staying? Are you kidding me?"

"Stop right there. I’ll be fine. I got plenty of food and Baby to keep me company."

"Dean-"

"It’s just for a few more days. Aaand I pinky promise not to try to shoot myself again. Happy? It’s not like I could even if I wanted to ‘cause all my ammo vanished, remember?"

"That pinky promise totally convinced me."

"Good."

"Take care."

"You too."

"Answer when I call."

"I will. Bye, bitch."

"Jerk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued


	4. Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boy meet angel. Here we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to post like mad these days because I have a little bit of free time (and no life) and all I have to do is edit anyway ('cause the fic is almost finished in my drafts).

Dean had searched the internet for answers, as if the internet was some kind of guru. He hadn’t find any so he ended up watching some bad animated porn on. He got bored half-way through though and shut down his laptop, switching to his phone. He only fondled with it, stared at it, opening and closing random applications.

He was distraught, caught in an odd pending state of mind. And the weather continued to be annoyingly nice.

Later that evening, he decided to take a walk. He had already walked what felt like a mile when he paused to lean on the trunk of a pine tree. A white butterfly came to him. He watched a it dance in the soft breeze. The repetitive motion of its wings determined a drowsy smile to form at the corner of his mouth. There was no thought or intent behind it, just pleasant, uncomplicated contentment that he didn't bother to seek an explanation for.

His shallow peace was disturbed the moment he looked over at the cabin.

The lights were on.

Did he forget them on? No. They were categorically not on when he left.

His green eyes scanned the dark surroundings suspiciously.

"Hello?" He opened the door with caution. The lights began to flicker.

"Son of a b... Please tell me I’m being haunted and not just losing it again."

They conitunued to flicker as Dean walked over to the electrical panel in an attempt to make them stop. Despite pushing all the right buttons, no effect was attained. It seemed like he had no chance of taking the wheel.

Suddenly, his ears caught the distant rythm and lyrics of a familiar song.

_When the lights go down in the city And the sun shines on the bay Do I wanna be there in my city?_

"Hell no... Baby!" The headlights of his car were illuminating a couple of trees nearby.

He looked in their direction to see if anyone was present under the spotlight, but no one was there.

The next thing he knew was that the radio just went crazy. It kept skipping through songs extremely fast, creating a nerve-racking noise.

The man ran out of the cabin and pointed a finger at the car.

"You stop messing with my Baby!" He was most likely looking silly yelling at an inanimate object like that, but he couldn’t care less.

"If you break her I’ll hunt your fucking palid ghost ass down, I mean it!" With that, the shuffling stopped. It stopped at one particular song: “Heaven and Hell.” By Black Sabbath.

Dean had to admit: the thing had a decent taste in music - for a ghost.

"Well, alright, pal. That was fun. You sure do know how to make atmosphere and all but how about you step out of the shadow for a sec’ and face me ‘cause I really can’t wait to ask you some questions. For instance, what the hell are you?"

The music stopped altogether. The wind whistled in back of his neck as he waited for more to come.

Nothing happened.

So was that what real-life ghosts _really_ did? They switched the lights on and off? Possesed people’s cars? Was that whole show supposed to be _scary_?

In that case, that ghost must have been a novice because Dean was _anything_ but scared. He’d seen scarier things.

-

Dean took a shower and went to bed. He tried to fall asleep, but it was hard when the wind was howling like a pack of wolves. The cry was unbearable - its increasing speed, its fury, the ache in it. It banged on the door, in the windows, on the roof, making the fair hair on his arms raise.

He gulped silently. Through the window of his cramped bedroom, he could see the forest swinging back and forth. The sky was darker than black, the lake had a tinge of red.

Unnatural - he could describe the view as that. It felt like Mother Nature was struggling to keep it together under the pressure of an unnatural force that was defying all of her rules.

With shaky limbs he got out of bed. Dean used to experience bad insomnia as a child. He’d learned that drinking warm milk actually worked, as well as hot tea.

The cabin was creaking like a coffin, putrid at the edges. The cabin felt like an old boat. The mountain was a roily sea stirring nausea at the bottom of his chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to dissipate the sensation.

His face was turned to the ground. The floor didn’t look back at him in a friendly manner.

He took a deep breath, raising his head. He was now facing the kitchen. The open door was inviting him inside. He started to move again, resuming his quest.

-

It was 3 past something when the sound of the wind quieted down.

The forest was silver under the light of the moon, and the gray walls of Dean’s bedroom were inked with shadows. An empty glass was resting on the nightstand. The warm milk had put Dean somewhere in a realm between dream and reality.

"Hello, Dean." His muscles clenched when a raspy voice greeted him in the night.

A stranger with blue eyes was sitting on the edge of the matress. In an attempt to put distance between them, Dean stumbled backwards. His elbow hit the wall behind him, spreading electricity through his entire body. He asked: "Are you a ghost?"

The stranger was looking at Dean in a way, so invasive and so intimate, it was making him extremely uncomfortable, and vulnerable like he had never been before. He was staring right _into_ him.

"You called me so earlier, too, but no. I am not a ghost." The mysterious man’s way of speaking had a calming effect. Distant and serene. His voice was hoarse, but not strained, while his words weren’t rushed, they weren’t late either.

"Earlier... when you were messing with my Baby?"

The man nodded.

"I apologize for that. I now see that the car - 'Baby' - means a lot to you, and I should not have touched it. I have been trying to communicate."

"Communicate? Like that? Buddy, that’s not how you communicate."

"That was not my first attempt."

"That was not your first attempt." Dean repeated mockingly.

The look the blue-eyed man shot him made him regret ever opening his mouth. How could a man have such a suave voice and daunting eyes?

"I was the stopping of the clocks." The stranger proceeded to explain. "The comfort in the breeze, the violence in the wind - everything. Every little thing that had happened to you for the past few days - it had been me."

Dean's lips parted involuntarily. _Every supernatural thing_ , he thought. "The butterfly?" He asked quietly.

"Yes."

"My ammo?"

The man nodded again.

"Why’d you take it?"

"So you don't hurt yourself again."

"What are you, my babysitter?"

"You don’t know." A realization. A frown.

"If you are not a ghost, then what are you? A demon?"

"Quite the opposite, I’m afraid."

Dean's face turned pale.

"The opposite? Aha. Of course, you are an angel -- who looks like an accountant."

His visitor looked like he was in his late 20s, or early 30s. The blue color of his eyes built a nice contrast with the intense shade of black in his hair. Just as black was the suit he was wearing underneath a beige trench coat. His tie was loose around the collar of his snow-white shirt.

"This?" Blue-eyes made an awkward gesture towards himself. Dean could not help but snort.

"This is only a body I have created so I could appear to you in human form."

"Angels can... create bodies out of thin air?"

"Not original bodies like our Father, but yes. We are allowed to make ourselves vessels in times of need. I had to ask permission from my superiors."

"What do you mean 'not original'."

"I have put different parts of different people together to make myself a vessel. Not in the literal sense, anyway. I have just copied them."

"That’s just creepy."

_He was like what? Frankenstein's counterpart?_

The stranger frowned harder.

"Would you rather have me posses a poor man?"

"I would rather have you out of my house."

"I wish I could go back to Heavens, but due to unfortunate circumstances I am stuck on Earth."

"And what are those 'unfortunate circumstances', huh, Hot Wings?"

"You."

It was Dean’s turn to frown, and gape.

"What did you just call me?"

"Maybe..." The angel hesitated. "Maybe I should not burden you with this piece of information. It might cause you distress and that is against my - um - duty."

"Oh, no, not so fast, pretty boy! You've disguised yourself in honey bees and puddles and done all that crap just to talk to me, and now that you've found a way, you’re just gonna chicken out? Sorry, but I ain't letting that happen so spill the beans."

"Dean-"

"Keep it. Go straight to the point."

The angel with the trench coat broke the eye contact and sighed discreetly. He was obviously unexcited to share whatever he was about to share, but did it anyway.

"My name is Castiel. Your brother, Samuel-"

"Sam? What about him?"

"He prayed to me. He asked me to help you. I told him people who don't want to be saved can not be saved. Beside that, you were dead already - but he didn't listen. I left, and he called me a second time, and I was a fool to go back. I should have known better."

"What did he do to you?"

"Dean, your brother is on a very dark path. You have to talk him out of his sinful ways."

"What did he do, Castiel?"

"He - he put a spell on me. Us. He used black magic to create a... connection."

 _Black magic?_ "A connection? What’s that supposed to mean?"

Castiel was silent for a couple of seconds. Inside his mind, he was trying to gather the right words, to find a suitable example to offer Dean in order to make him understand.

"Imagine having a job your entire life, being devoted to your work, and your boss. And then suddenly, one day, you are fired, and forced to work for someone else, to serve a different purpose."

Dean could relate, in a way. He had been fired recently. He didn't love the job, but it was a good job.

"Alright, I got the picture. So you’re saying my brother did this to you? He dragged you out your old job and had you serve _me_ .Or work for me. Whatever."

"Yes."

"No, Sam wouldn't do that." Dean protested.

"Dean, I know. It is upsetting for people to discover flaws in the ones who they once believed to be perfect. What your brother did was wrong, but his intentions were pure. He did it out of love - for you."

"No fucking way."

"Dean." Castiel repeated his name firmly. Dean looked him in the eye. All he could see was sincerity, not lies, as he'd hoped.

"Son of a bitch." He muttered under his breath. "Fine. I believe you. What am I supposed to do now?"

Castiel's forehead smoothened as he replied: "First of all, you need to make sure Sam won't go near black magic again."

"What's up with black magic anyway?"

“It's black, Dean.”

“And?”

“The longer he uses it, the darker his soul will be. Have you ever seen a darkened soul?”

"No. Wait. Dark as in...?"

"Tainted with sin. Impure. Where do you think he receives the power from? Angels? God? A god? No."

"Then?"

"Lucifer."

_Dean’s head hurt. Lucifer. Black magic. Angels. What next?_

"I'll... talk to him. And I’ll send you back home one way or another." He made a half-hearted promise, but Castiel seemed content with it.

Dean went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. When he returned to the bedroom, he saw the angel sitting patiently on the edge of his bed, just like he'd left him. The way he was sitting, with his back perfectly straight and his hands flat on the tighs, reminded Dean of a child.

The guy was impersonal and sober, cold as a cucumber, but there was also something very odd in his mannerism, something that added a vague innocence to his heavenly accountant image.

Dean tried to abandon any thoughts about him, and call Sam, failing in the end. He found himself speaking to _Castiel_ again: "Black Sabbath, huh?"

"That was the only song with religious themes I could find."

"Religious?"

"Heaven and Hell?"

"Right."

"I thought you would get the hint but I've clearly overestimated your intellectual capacity."

"Clearly." Dean replied, amused rather than offended.

-

Dean didn't call Sam rightaway. He decided to pay him a visit instead. Castiel told him he could teleport both of them to Sam’s university in no time to which Dean replied with "How about you try the classic way? I bet you've never rode in a car before.". There was no chance of leaving Baby behind so all could the poor angel do was comply.

Dean liked to drive the best on an open road that was empty, at night, music (usually "Cherry pie" or some song from Led Zeppelin) blasting so loud that when he turned it off he would still be able to hear it, an arm thrown out on the opened window so he could feel the wind.

-

Dean peeked at his celestial passanger who seemed to be in deep thought.

"Cas - can I call you Cas? - so, Cas, how do you like your first ride?"

"It's too slow." Castiel mumbled.

"What, are you bored already?"

"I got bored hours ago."

"No way! Car rides are supposed to be fun, man."

"How?"

The man threw Cas a chocolate bar, saying: "Listen. Car rides are what you make of them. If you're going on a ride thinking ‘Oh, I don’t even wanna be here. I wish I could've zapped instead’, then it’s going to be boring. But if you take the ride as it is and turn it into an adventure, then that’s going to be a hell of a ride."

"I don't understand a word you are saying."

"You eat and stare out the window, pretending you’re in a music video. That's what people do on car rides."

"I don’t eat."

"Too bad. Food is the second best thing in the world."

"What is the first one?"

"Sex." Dean smirked. Castiel didn't return the favour, he just frowned whipering the word "strange" to himself.

"What's strange?"

"The affection you carry for your kin is indubitable, and you seem to enjoy music quite a lot so I thought these two things would come first to you."

The corners of Dean’s mouth dropped.

"I mean yeah, you're right. I was only teasing you." He laughed. "You shouldn’t take everything so literally."

Castiel didn't replied. He just looked at Dean with judgment swimming in the blue of his eyes, so the man felt compelled to keep talking. "Of course family comes first. And sure, music is something a little bit more than sex, I mean damn it, music was my prom date after Heyley Moore had declined my invitation. It’s probably the only thing that has always been around beside… Sam."

“I see.”

“I see? I just told you my life story and all I get in return is 'I see'?” Dean let out yet another awkward laugh. Getting Castiel talk was a hard task. He wasn’t equipped with any interpersonal skills, he didn't make small talk. He had no sense of humour in his bones. It was frustrating, infuriating even. Dean had tried to break the ice, but as it turned out, a few jokes weren't enough. At some point he started to think he might need a pickaxe for that.

"I understand." Castiel said after a long pause.

Dean turned his head to see if the angel was still looking at him. He wasn’t. His attention had moved to the door lock. He pushed the button with his index and middle finger, obtaining a "click". Castiel must have thought that was funny because he'd repeated the action a few more times before Dean reacted.

"Hey. Don't play with the lock!"

He retracted his hand then.

"Put some on some music."

Dean raised an eyebrow. It was a normal request, but it came from a person whom he considered to be far from normal.

"Yeah, okay." He shrugged and picked a random track. Hysteria. Joe Elliot’s filled the interior of the Impala. 

Castiel held Dean’s gaze for a moment, silently expressing the fondness for his choice.

Ballads weren't Dean's favourites, but he could make an exception from time to time.

-

"God! I'm so tired I can't keep my eyes open."

They booked a room on their way - some cheap motel called "Moonshine", nothing fancy. After so many hours of driving Dean could really use some rest. Sleeping wasn't a problem for Castiel, apparently. Beside the fact that angels didn't eat, they didn’t sleep either. _Good for them._

"I'm going to take a shower. You do your thing, I guess." He told Castiel.

After a long session of scrubbing and cleaning, he found the angel in the exact same spot where he'd left him. _Dejá vu, much?_ Rolling his eyes, Dean grabbed a can of beer and threw himself onto the bed. He didn't even bother to put clothes on. In his opinion, the large violet towel wrapped around his bottom was enough.

There was absolutely nothing good on tv: cooking cable, reruns of tv shows, midnight news, ads. Dean noticed Castiel again. He was staring at him from the opposite side of the room.

"Take a picture. It lasts longer." The man said sarcastically, turning off the tv. Castiel didn't seem to comprehend so he simply continued to stare. _Oh right!_ Castiel and sarcasm didn't go well together.

"Earth to Cas! Can I help you?"

"Cover yourself. The angel said carefully, with a blank expression painted on his face. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Really? What are you, some kind of schoolgirl who's never seen a guy naked?"

"You are being innappropriate."

"Okay, fine, Mr. Goody two shoes."

"I don't understand all these terms you're calling me, Dean. My name, is Castiel."

"Sure it is, honey bee."

"Dean."

"Did you want something?"

The angel was about to reply when the lights flickered. Dean shot him a glance, silently asking "Was that you?".

Castiel shook his head.

"If it wasn't you then what was that?"

"Poor conductors of electricity?"

"Yeah, maybe." It was weird. But nothing strange had happened for the rest of the night so Dean took it as an isolated incident and forgot about it soon.

The next morning he did something out of his character. He drove to an actual restaurant for breakfast instead of grabbing some random snack from the nearest supermarket.

Castiel followed him inside, unsure of how to behave. He defended himself by telling Dean that " _he was 2000 years old, and he hasn't visited Earth since world war the first, of course he didn’t know how to act in public_ ".

"Whatever. Just go sit at a table. I'll be back in a minute."

The angel nodded. He chose a table that happened to be close to the window. His sight drifted outside. He found watching people just going about thier usual activities quite entertaining.

A blonde woman holding two paper bags full of groceries was rushing to her car.

Another one was walking her dog down the street.

A few kids were playing in the sand in the park nearby. They were raising a castle.

Some men were carrying a piece of furniture out of a big truck.

Everyone was caught up in their little universe. Everyone was busy with tasks that felt trivial to him, although to them, they seemed pretty important.

Dean threw himself into the chair in front of him a few moments later.

"Did you miss me?" He asked cheekily.

"You were gone for five minutes, I don't think that is enough time for someone to develop-"

"Jesus, can't you lie at least?"

"Why would I-"

"Hello, welcome to Louie M’s Burger Lust Café! What would you like to order?" A brown-haired waitress with green eyes like Dean's showed up at their table.

She was wearing the restaurant’s uniform and a big smile on her face. Dean had noticed her name tag and smiled back in his over-confident kind of way.

"What do you recommend, Caroline?"

"Well, as our name suggests, we have some pretty good burgers - especially the one with guacamole, bacon and cheddar cheese."

"That sounds awesome. Bring me one of those - actually, make it double. Add a big portion of fries to it."

"Anything to drink?"

"Just a coke, thanks."

"Sure thing! What about you, sir?" The waitress turned her atttention to Castiel.

"I don't eat." He told her, bluntly.

"He's, uh, he's not hungry." Dean let out a nervous laugh. Caroline just shrugged and left their table.

"How long until we get to your brother, Dean?"

"First of all, don’t be such a weirdo. You don’t want people to know you're some angel from above, alright?"

"Why is that a bad thing?"

"Listen to me, Cas. People are people. They won't take you seriously, they'll just think you're crazy... or worse! Say they believe you - what next? They capture your majestic ass and turn you into some kind of experiment. That, or the number one circus attraction."

"Dean, it's... sweet that you worry about me, but you people are little ants compared to me. All I need to do is touch somebody’s forehead and they die."

The man attempted to hide his astonishment behind a casual tone. "Can you... really do that?"

Castiel nodded in response.

"Huh. Cool."

"I hope you understand why I don't belong here. I agree your planet is blessed and beautiful, and unlike my brothers and my sisters in Heaven, I find humans lovely creatures... but this is no place for an angel."

"Hey, don't worry. I understand. Remember I promised you that I’ll find a way to send you back home safe and sound, didn’t I?"

"Myes, you did."

"Trust me on this one: Dean Winchester always keeps his promises. Do you trust me?"

Castiel's eyes, bright and blue like the sky during a clear summer day, began to search for something inside Dean's: signs of lying, shades of truth.

For the nth time, he was making Dean feel completely naked under his intense gaze. In spite of feeling that way, Dean didn't break the eye contact, allowing him to dig deeper. Castiel’s features relaxed slightly when he seemed to have found the one thing he’d been looking for. "I trust you."

"Good. I’m'm glad we established that."

Dean's order arrived faster he'd imagined it would. He took a big bite from his burger, followed by a bigger sip of Coke. Caroline wasn't lying. The bacon, cheese and whatever burger tasted amazing. He moaned while taking another bite. Fast service and good food - that was Heaven on Earth for a man. At least for _a_ man, for Dean. His phone buzzed. It was Sam. Dean thought twice before answering.

"Sammy!" He said in an overly cheerful voice.

"Hey, Dean. How's it going?"

"It’s going great. What's up?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to check on you."

"I am fine, Sam, you..."

"...Worry too much. I know, I know. You always say that to me."

"Hey, by the way, is there anything you wanna tell me?"

"Like what?"

"Like anything." There was a pause at the other end of the call, and then:

"Um, nope, there's nothing. Why?"

"Nothing at all?"

"Dean, we have a golden rule..."

"We don't keep secrets from each other." The brothers said, simultaneously.

"Right." Sharp by nature, Sam had easily picked up on the underlying sarcasm in his older brother’s reply, but all he did was laugh it off.

"Are you sure you’re okay, man?"

"I couldn’t be any much better. Boy, I swear it’s almost like I have an angel watching over me 24/7."

Dean and Castiel exchanged looks over the table.

"That’s something. How’s the weather in MA?"

"MA's full of sunshine and rainbows, perfect for hunting deer."

"Please leave the poor animals alone."

"Hunting is an art, little brother."

"Whatever you say, Michael Dundee. Look, my course on law history is about to start."

"History? Sounds like fun - your kind of fun."

"Yeah, well, it's important. I gotta go."

"Go wild, tiger." Dean ended the call. Castiel tilted his head, confused. He looked like a lost puppy - a lost puppy that could kill a man in a blink of an eye, apparently.

"Dean, why did you lie to your brother about where you were?"

"Why not? He lied to me about a lot of things."

The angel mumbled "Interesting." under his breath. Dean didn't bother to ask what was so interesting.

-

They reached Sillicon Valley around 9 in the morning. Dean hadn't bothered to search for a parking lot, and parked his car in an empty alley, undisturbed by the fact that he might get a ticket for that. According to Sam, he tended to be a reckless driver. Truth was Dean was just reckless in general.

Since he had never visited Sam he had no clue how to get to his university. He could simply call him, but he didn't want to ruin the surprise. So Dean resorted to Google Maps for directions.

The clouds were upset above them. The car kept them warm inside of her metallic womb, protecting them from the heavy rain that the city was bathing in.

Dean had his sight fixed into the screen of his phone, but all of his other senses were directed to Castiel. He could hear his breathing, feel his stillness, taste something was wrong at the tip of his tongue. His companion was clearly troubled by something.

The angel was silently watching the raindrops falling from the sky. He was quiet by nature, sure, but wasn't a typical "Castiel silence". It carried underlying meaning with it. It was weird - the way he was beginning to notice the fine patterns in Castiel's behaviour, and the small differences that broke them.

The man dropped his phone in an over-the-top manner, sighing. He ran his fingers through his hair, then he gestured towards the angel, saying:

"Talk to me."

The angel replied in a melancholic voice: "I was thinking. Rain is such a beautiful phenomenon... the raw smell, the texture, the way it falls and cools off the ground. It's a shame it never rains in Heaven."

"Cas, what’s the matter?" Castiel shrugged with one shoulder, turning his face to the driver. His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows joined in a frown. Dean had noticed he tended to frown often.

"In my mind, I am usually able to hear the other angels talking, but I can't do that anymore... It’s... quiet. Too quiet."

"So, someone basically turned off the angel radio in your head and that is a bad thing because...?"

"Because it means the others no longer deem me worthy of hearing what is being discussed in Heaven."

"Cas, don't say that. It's probably temporary, some side effect of the spell."

"No." Castiel turned his attention back to the window, to the rain. The towers of a church were intersecting with the gloomy sky in the distance. From the look in his eyes it seemed to Dean that they would have to make another stop on their way to Stanford.

-

The church was an authentic piece of art. The gothic construction stood tall and intimidating. It had huge doors made of stone and wood. Those were wide open, ready to suck souls inside. Dean was hesitant. He hadn't been to many churches in his lifetime. He remained glued to the doorway, watching Castiel from afar.

He moved like a fish in water, analyzing and admiring at the same time. With its vaulted ceiling and colorful windows that were large, but barely allowed any sunlight in, the interior was just as impressive and massive as the exterior. The air, static and cold, gave Dean chills. Castiel walked to the front of the pew and took a seat. He closed his eyes and voiced a few words. His voice was low, but the architectural acoustics exaggerated the sound: "Father, are you there? I need guidance, a sign. I can not help but feel deep inside my heart that I have wronged you in a way. Father?"

Dead silence.

Dean sighed. His gaze fell on the tip of his boots. A sincere feeling of compassion mixed with something unidentifiably pure bloomed like lilies in the spaces between the man's ribs.

"I can’t feel Him anymore."

"I’m sorry, Cas." Dean was unsure of what else to say. He had never been good at comforting at others, nor did Castiel looked like the type who needed to be comforted. He knew his type. The one who didn't like being told he had been crying. The one though and full of pride. They had that in common.

The silence continued.

Dean spent several minutes just looking down at his shoes like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Suddenly, he heared a flutter of wings.

He snapped out of his trance, realizing that he had been left alone in an empty church. Castiel was gone. The man called the angel’s name in vain, just like the angel had called God earlier.

-

Dean had searched for Castiel in all the sacred places of Sillicon Valley. He didn't know where else to search. Where could an angel locked out of Heaven go anyway?

Dean needed to find him before he got himself killed - assuming angels could die. Cas had explicitly told him that people couldn't hurt him, but what if there were things that could? He needed to find him because he felt responsible for the guy.

After he had searched for two days, he started to do _research_ , hoping good ol’ Google would help. It didn't.

According to the... majority of the sites and blogs he’d visited, all the people who claimed to have seen angels needed urgent medical care. Dean would have thought the same if he wasn't one of them.

Out of curiosity, he'd also read about Castiel. He was a third choir angel in the second triad which made him a warrior of God - an actual warrior. Apparently he was something close to a lieutenant colonel as for a human army. Most articles depicted him as extremely loyal and very powerful.

Dean couldn't picture Cas as the mighty soldier everyone made out of him. To Dean, he was just an awkward angel with blue eyes.

 _Beautiful blue eyes_ , Dean realized, frowning. _The hell am I thinking?_


	5. The trouble a redhead brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love, all redheads xoxo

Sam woke up with his brother in front of his door.

He froze from head to toe. He just stood there motionless, looking at Dean like he was a phantom. Although he’d opened his mouth, no words came out. His thoughts were hard to decode.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know I am stunningly beautiful. Are you gonna let me in or what?"

"Yes, yes." Sam sobered up instantly. "This is Kevin."

His roommate was a scrawny asian kid who looked younger than his actual age. Dressed in a blue hoodie and white sweat pants, with a pair of earbugs safely plugged into his ears, he was spread on the bed, reading a book. He gave Dean a half-assed wave without even raising his eyes from it. His presence didn't seem to interest him very much.

"What a sweetheart." Dean huffed.

"Why didn't you tell me you're coming?"

"What can I say? I like to surprise people. You should’ve seen your face. Priceless."

"Dean, it's not that I'm not happy see you but-"

"Buuuut you aren't very happy to see me. Or maybe I’m making you nervous."

"Nervous?" Sam chuckled.

"Yeah, people get nervous when they end up in the same room as the person they’re hiding things from."

"Look, Dean, you should probably sit down for a while. Just chill out while I'm making you some chamomile tea."

"Fuck your tea!" Dean snapped, making Sam jerk back and his hands went up defensively.

"Fine, no tea then."

"Cut the crap, Sam. You know what you did. I know what you did. And I'm sick and tired of you pretending nothing ever happened so drop this 'not guilty' façade. You're studying law, damn it! You should know that never works."

That was it. He'd said it. Dean was expecting a totally different answer when Sam looked him dead in the eye and said: "I don't know what you're talking about."

 _He didn’t think he was that dumb, did he?_ The absurdity of the situation made Dean burst into a hysterical laugh. Shaking his head, he bit into his lip to temper his fury. His voice resonated tired and bitter: "You're lying to my face, Sammy. Does the name 'Castiel' ring a bell?"

Sam's features darkened in a strange way. His hazel eyes widened, pushing his thin pair of eyebrows upwards.

"Where did you hear that name?"

"Oh, you seriously didn't think he would try to contact me?"

"No. I don't know."

"For someone so smart you can be so stupid sometimes. And black magic? Who do you think you are, Winnie Sanderson?"

"I've been...studying."

"Studying?!" The elder brother's voice raised and fell. "Studying." He deadpanned. "You've been studying magic, is that right? Is that what you're telling me? That, that's what you're telling, that my little brother is the next top witch."

"Dean..." Sam threw Dean one of his best puppy faces. Dean didn’t bite. "It’s not like that. I find the subject interesting."

"Interesting? I cant believe this."

"Look, yeah... The spell I used, that was black magic. But not all magic is black. There is white magic too."

"Yeah, card tricks are white magic. Anything else? Evil."

"You're wrong."

"Since you're such an expert, how about you break the bond between me and the angel and let the poor guy go home?"

"I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no idea how to do that."

"Awesome." Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm down. On a second thought, he could use that tea.

"Then make yourself useful and tell me how I can find him."

"Who? Castiel?"

"No, Waldo. Castiel, obviously! Who else? I lost him on the way here."

"Dean, you, uh, you lost a multidimensional wavelenght of celestial intent on your way to Stanford?"

"A multit...what? He's like 5’3" and with a stick up his ass."

"That's impossible..."

"Why, what did he look like when you saw him?"

"That's the thing, I've never seen him. I only talked to him through prayer."

"Through prayer?"

"Well, yeah. He's an angel, Dean."

"So, if I want to find him all I have to do is pray to him?"

A third voice hit the walls, hastily: "You don’t find him, he finds you." The Winchesters synchronously turned their heads towards the source, frowning. Kevin frowned back. He was now at the edge of his bed, book and headphones long forgotten.

"What? Yes, I heared the whole conversation. It's not like you bothered to keep it down or in another room anyway."

Dean nodded in agreement, shrugging.  
"Kevin, huh? What do you know about angels?"

"For starters, angels are the ones who come to you when you pray, not the other way around. You don't just magically appear where they are, unless they choose to teleport you there, I guess."

"Okay, how do you know that?"

"My grandpa happens to be a religious historian." He pauses. "And I watch a lot of movies. "

"Go on... "

"As Sam said, angels are multidimensional wavelenghts. As a result they travel through space and time, and are capable of hearing your prayer from, well, basically anywhere in the universe meaning the distance between the angel and the one praying doesn't matter. Now, some will respond, others won't. I don’t know what’s their criteria is, don’t ask me. Usually, there’s no rule when praying to angels, but if you want to be more... hm... formal - you can follow a specific ritual."

"We’ll stick to the basics, thanks. Sam, you heared the guy. Go ahead. Clap your hands together and do the trick."

"What? Me?"

"Obviously? I mean you've already made him show up twice. You know what to say."

"Dean, I doubt he'll answer _me_. Think about it."

Perhaps Sam was right. After what he'd done to him, after tricking him, and casting that spell onto him, Cas could not possibly risk answering Sam Winchester a third time. It seemed logical.

"You should do it. You're the one with a bond to him. He’ll listen to you." Sam offered, and Kevin intervened: "If you want to find your angel you gotta do it, there is no other way."

"Look. I’m not gonna pray. I just... don't pray alright? It’s lame." In Dean's agenda, praying equaled begging. "Besides, I've never been a big believer. I’m not gonna start now."

"If an angel showing up at his door does not make man believe, then I don't know what else could." Kevin replied.

It wasn't like Dean didn't acknowledge divinity. He knew there must be a God - or something - out there. He simply didn’t believe in His goodness.

"Here's another idea." Sam said. "If the angel chose to take flight, that’s his business. Let him be."

"Can't do that. What if he's hurt, or worse?"

"Why do you even care?"

"Because you don't, and someone has to."

"And that 'someone' has to be you."

"Damn right, it has to be me!"

Kevin found himself expelled from the chat. He remained soundless as he watched the Winchester brothers get all red in the face, and fiery in the eye. Their voices began to reach high notes. From an outsider’s point of view, Dean seemed to be the one who typically won their brotherly fights.

Now, Kevin could have stepped in, but... he didn't really want to.  
He grabbed a bag of chips he hadn't got time to finish and calmly took a seat in his rolling chair.

The show went on.

"This is your fault!"

"I couldn’t sit back and do nothing!"

"Oh, and what did Samuel do? Right! He enslaved an angel using black magic and now the poor thing's stuck here, obliged to blow my nose and kiss my knees each time I fall. Brilliant plan, Sammy! Seriously, good job!"

_Points to Dean._

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? That I regret saving my brother? Because I don't, and I'd do it again if I had to. Collateral damage happens. But you're safe and sound, and that's all that matters."

Kevin understood where Sam was coming from. Still, he sounded like a dick.

"Collateral damage? That's all he is to you?"

"He's an 'it'. An angel, not a human."

"He's a person! And you ruined him."

"You win some, you lose some. That's how life goes."

"So what? In the end, you get your brother back while an innocent angel pays the price? I swear I don't even recognize you anymore, man. You weren’t so heartless and selfish last time I checked..."

Was that what Castiel meant by a dark soul? Was Sam under the influence of black magic. Dean hoped so. That couldn't be Sam 100%. His brother wasn’t a cruel bastard.

"You're gonna help me find this angel." Dean added. "We're gon' send him back to Heaven."

Sam sighed, but didn't protest any further.

"Hey, kid, come here!"

Kevin straightened himself. "Yeah?"

"What do I have to do?"

"Just pray." The younger Winchester spoke again. Dean shot him a death glare. "I wasn't talking to _you_." He said in a scolding tone, pointing at him like an upset parent. "Kevin, what do I do?"

"Just, uh, pray?" The reply got a snort from Sam.

"I can do this, yeah." Dean encouraged himself. "Alright, here we go. You guys are gonna stand there and watch or-?"

Both Sam and Kevin rolled their eyes at the same time. Dean took that as a "yes".

"Fine then. Just asking." He cleared his throat and began: "Oh, Angel of God, who art in Heaven - well, not really - to whom His love commits me here, whatever comes next... Castiel, I'd really appreciate it if you just got your feathery ass here..." He finished off with "amen". Dean held his breath, preparing for something that never happened. "Huh. He might've ran out of battery." He tried to joke, despite feeling disappointed as hell.

-

A Castiel-less week had passed.  
Dean had been told not to worry. Sooner or later he _would_ be back. The angel could be hidden far, but he couldn't be truly gone. An invisible string would always pull him back to Dean. The spell had imprisoned his freedom, reshaping his fate. His purpose now sprang from the existance of a mere human, and there was nothing beyond sustaining his unsteady walls and forgiving his sins.

A sentiment of abandonment persisted inside his chest. Since the dissapearence of the angel, he had been feeling incomplete like a half-empty glass or a puzzle missing a piece. Most of all, he was restless. It was coming back. The way he was before Castiel, it was coming back, little by little.

It was Saturday night. Dean was drowning his sorrow in beer when a young lady approached him with a cute smile and the whole "Wanna buy me a drink?" speech. From the corner of his eye, the man could see she was attractive, but not really his type. However, his loneliness nudged him to say yes.

"Dean." he introduced himself before taking a sip.

"Georgia, it's a pleasure." She said, playing with a short strand of her auburn hair.

"Georgia... I like it."

"I like you."

"Straightfoward, aren't we?"

The girl shrugged, giggling softly. A few more drinks and a conversation charged with heavy erotic subtext later they left the bar together.

She seemed highly intelligent from the way she spoke. That, combined with a playful attitude and good taste in music, made her extremely likeable.  
Dean smiled to himself. He was sure he wouldn’t regret that night.

As soon as they arrived at her place, she gripped the collar of his khaki shirt and guided him up the stairs.

He began to feel extremly dizzy.

"I think I had too much alchool." He laughed as she pushed him onto her queen-sized bed. The room was spinning.

"I"ll be right back." She gave him a brief kiss on the cheek, leaving a trace of lipstick behind. He nodded right before passing out.

-

Dean woke up with a killer headache in the same apartment as the previous night. It took him a minute to remember the face and the name of the one who had brought him there.

That's right. Cute, petite, red-haired, her name was _Georgia_. He was pretty sure he had passed out before they got to do anything - _how embaressing_.

Dean heared somebody unlocking the front door. He assumed it was her. Turned out it was not. He ended up faceing a guy around 30, just as tall as Sam, and buff like a wrestler.

"Who the fuck are you?" The guy asked.

"Pal, it isn't what it looks like."

"Oh, I think it is! You're the punk who broke into my house last month, aren't you? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I'll rip your fucking guts out."

The guy swung a punch at Dean. He dodged it somehow.

"I've never been here before!"

The man didn't listen. He went in for another punch, ending up getting punched instead. He was big, but Dean was quick.

"Chill the fuck out, I'm not here to rob you! In the worst case scenario, I was going to screw your wife... But it's good, nothing happened! Can't we be friends?"

"I have no wife, you lunatic!"

The statement took Dean by surprise. He let his guard down for a second. That's when the other man threw himself at him. They crushed onto his expensive-looking coffee table. The piece of furniture had no chance, it just shattered into pieces under their weights.

"It's Georgia I'm talking about!"

"I don't know any Georgia!"

Dean struggled to escape from underdeath John Cena with all of his power. His right hand found its way above his head, trying to reach the metal leg of the broken table.

His fingers were getting closer and closer. Dean streched and streched, until he managed to grab the thing and hit the man in the head with it. He fell into unconsciousness.

Dean rolled him off his body and got up. He was bloody, sweaty, and sore all over. He needed to get out of there fast.

He reached inside his pocket.

"No."

He turned all the pockets inside-out.

"No, no, no."

His wallet was gone, but most importantly, his car keys were missing.

"Son of a bitch!


	6. Bonnie & Bonnie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna spoil it, no.

"Are you serious? You got drugged, robbed _and_ beaten, everything in less than 24 hours? How in the world is that possible?"

"Kevin, focus. Can you track my car?"

"I guess. Should I tell Sam about all of this?"

"No, but you do keep an eye on him for me, alright? Make sure he doesn’t summon satan or something. If he does, then give me a call and I'll handle it."

"Sure thing."

Dean caught a glimpse of his swollen face in the now locked screen of his phone. At least the girl, _Georgia_ , if that was her real name (he doubted it was), hadn't taken the key to his hotel room too. That would’ve sucked. But no, sir, thanks to the secret pocket on the inside of his jacket, the key was safe. Ah, inside pockets... Tiny, sneaky little bastards, often overlooked and underestimated - by thieves, and people in general.

Dean had taken a handful of pills already, but the headache was still bothering him. His nose hurt like a motherfucker, too. It was probably broken. Kevin advised him to have it checked. He refused. Dean wasn’t a big fan of hospitals and doctors, unless we're talking about "Dr. Sexy M.D.".

There was a strange comfort in the fact that at least he felt just as crappy as he looked.

His green eyes bore into the peach wall in front of him as he sat motionless on the edge of his bed.

His senses were faster than his conciousness. They had registered something was out of place and sent a signal to the brain.There was a presence in the room. His brain brought his body into action. The man rotated his head towards the window.

He began by noticing a shadow spread on the floor, and then, raising his eyes, he saw who it belonged to. His lips parted.

The angel was only meters away, looking back at him with some kind of bitterness in his eyes. He started to move closer. Dean tensed up.  
He attempted to stand up, but Castiel placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down on the bed with unexpected gentleness. With the same hand he touched his forehead, fingers tracing down his face slowly. They felt like feathers tickling his skin. His palm was cold on Dean’s cheek. It stayed there for a while.  
Pain suddenly left his entire body.

"What did you do?"

"I fixed you."

The man wanted to say "thank you". He did, in his mind. But what came out of his mouth was completely different:  
"You freaking asshole. I hope you have a good reason for disappearing on me like that." His voice was an angry whisper.

"I had to be alone for a while."

"That’s not good enough. I was worried for you, I searched for you. I even prayed to you, damn it!"

"I... know."

"So you knew. And you chose to ignore me because why the hell not, right?"

"You don't understand how ignominious this whole situation is for me!"

"Then why are you still here?"

"I’m sorry, Dean, but in case you forgot-"

"Yeah, yeah. The spell - right. You heard me through the baby monitor, crying, and you couldn't help yourself. Good news though. You healed me which means you can go back to... wherever you came from now. See you next time I get beaten up or something."

"But my return..."

"Oh, don't worry your little head. I'm working on it, as I promised. I'm just saying that if you don’t wanna stick around, if you... feel like your holy ass is too superior to even be near some lousy human like me, you're free to go. I’ll give you a notice when I find something."

Full of irony and venom, the man's words stung. Castiel bowed his head. Dean turned his back to him, ignoring his presence as if he had already left the room. His attention shifted to the mundane task of folding some clothes. He was only simulating concentration though, his true goal being to make the angel go away.

Castiel didn't leave. He was faltering by the window, watching his every movement without interference. After he had cleaned the entire room (And man, was it messy?) Dean realized that was it. What else could he use to distract himself from Castiel's presence? He gave in. It was a chasing tail game where he had been proclaimed the loser even before he started playing. How could he win against him when Castiel's gaze was so obstinate? It had been burning into his back the whole time, asking his attention back.

"What, you’re still here?" Dean looked at him briefly, faking surprise. He walked to the refrigerator to grab an energy drink.

"You're in no position to judge me." The angell replied. His voice was not accusing – just sad. His eyes were sadder. Something really, really bad must have happened since Dean was able to read the distress in that blue like black ink on white paper.

"Sit." He told Cas. He didn't seem to like Dean’s commanding tone, but that didn’t stop him from obeying. He sat down on the edge of the bed while Dean took a step back so he could look at him better.

"There's something you're not telling me. Cas, whats going on?"

"Back in the church I recieved a revelation."

"And?"

"Dean, I don’t think… spending time with you is very beneficial for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean frowned. Whenever he frowned, he looked harsher – meaner. Dean Winchester often looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders even if he didn't deserve it. He looked much younger, much nicer when the corners of his mouth were pointed upwards.

"Nothing."

The man saw right through his lie, however, he didn't say anything. Not even when Castiel changed the subject.

"Your car, um, I know where it is."

"You do?"

 _Interest. Good._ Castiel thought. "Yes, I'll go retrieve it now." He said as a matter of fact, standing up. Dean grabbed his upper arm, and he stiffened. No human had the chance to be so close to him, let alone touch him. And Dean was very touchy. No matter how many times he held his wrist or tugged his coat, Castiel would still be taken aback each time.

"Lead me there. I want to face the bastards who did this."

-

It only took a snap of fingers.

Castiel zapped both of them inside of a locked-down garage. The first thing Dean saw was Baby. A huge smile spread onto his face.

He checked the interior, the exterior, the tires. No scratches - that was good. The numbers were changed, of course, and everything he had stored in the trunk of the car was gone. That included his rifle, clothes, snacks and a bunch of cassettes, CDs and magazines.

His ringtone went off, snapping him out of his imaginary inventory.

"Kev, what's the word?"

"Dean, I tracked your car."

"I'm afraid you’re a little late on that, buddy."

"You found it? How?"

Dean exchaged glaces with Castiel.  
"I had a little-" Suddenly there was something pressing at the back of his head, something cold, and made of metal.

"Drop the phone and turn around slowly." A feminine voice said.

 _Where did she even came from?_ Dean asked himself as he followed her instructions. He turned around to see a girl pointing his own rifle at him.  
It was the same red-headed girl whom he'd met at the bar that night.

Castiel was at his side, looking ready to jump in, but Dean shook his head discreetly.

"Sigh. I really thought there was something special going on between us back there but I guess I was wrong, _Georgia_."

"Sorry, pal, I don't swing that way."

"Wait, what?" The man choked chewing on the information. "Wow. You, uh, are a very good actress then." He laughed awkwardly. He felt... betrayed.

"It comes with the job."

"And your job consists of luring men into random houses you've broken in, and stealing from them?"

"Pretty much." She shrugged. "I'm a con artist. And a hacker, not to brag."

"How do you sleep at night?"

"On soft pillows and dirty money. Enough with the chit-chat, this car's mine now. You either take your little friend here and get out of my garage or I blow your freaking brains out."

"Sorry, sister. Been there, done that."

Dean threw a look in Castiel's direction, feeling overwhelmed by an unusual sense of power. He knew that as long as the angel was around nothing bad could happen.

"Charlie, what's going on?" Another girl's voice was heard. She showed up through a back door that Dean hadn't noticed before, a door that appeared to be leading inside the house.

The girl was lean and brunette, wearing a light pink nightgown under a brown coat similar to Castiel's, hair wet like she had just got out of the shower.

Dean made use of the red-haired girl's shift of attention and snatched the rifle out of her hands, and then, grabbing her from behind, he pinned her against his chest with the weapon horizontally placed at her neck.

The brunette pulled out a gun herself, but her effort was meaningless. Cas raised his hand towards her and the handgun flew to the other side of the room. The girl took a step back, shaking her head.

"You're not human!" She exclaimed.

Dean was just as startled as her.  
Castiel had already juggled with the forces of the nature and patched him up in a heartbeat. Now he controlled things with his mind too. He wondered what other tricks he had up his sleeves.

The tables turned as the redhead kicked him in the crotch and elbowed him in the chin. He was brought to his knees, dropping the rifle in the process.

He heard Castiel calling his name right before her knuckles kissed his face with great force, knocking him out.

  
-

Blackness had slowly vanished.

Dean found himself in unfamiliar surroundings, surrounded by familiar faces. Propping himself into an elbow, he demanded answers.

The dark-haired girl from earlier spoke: "You were unconcious for a while, even after the angel healed your black eye and all. I am Francis, that is my girlfriend, Charlie. I'm sorry about everything."

Dean could see the apology was sincere, but he still had to ask: "Why'd you steal my car in the first place?"

Francis shot a glace at Charlie, who rolled her eyes.

"Charlie told me she'd stopped doing this kind of things, she told me the car was a gift from her grandfather. Apparently it wasn't. She lied. And I believed her."

"Don't worry. I know the feeling of being lied by your loved ones, so we're kind of in the same boat, I suppose."

The redhaired girl blushed, either from anger or embarrassment, or both.

"Frankie, I already said I'm sorry! What else do you want me to do?"

She yelled. And her lover yelled back.

"To mean it, Charlie!"

" _Frankie_."

"Don't 'Frankie' me. You. Me. Outside, now. We need to talk." And so the girls left the room.

"They're good people." Castiel mumbled. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Despite stealing my car and kicking me in the nuts?"

"Yes, despite stealing your car and... kicking you in the private parts. They have done some very bad things. They have stolen, and lied, and hurt others. But each of them had a tough life. I'm not saying that excuses them, but I do think pain does that to people. Am I right, Dean?"

After a moment of silence, Dean nodded. "Yeah, I guess it does. "

"Things changed the moment they found each other."

"How romantic." Dean said sarcastically, rolling off the couch. "Changed how? They don't look like they've learned their lesson. I almost died back there... again."

"They weren't going to kill you, Dean. Do you think I would have let them live if they represented a real threat to you?"

The man shivered slightly, hearing Castiel's words. "And... yes." The angel added. "Romantic indeed. I've heard people say love is a powerful tool. It seems to be true."

"You're such a sap."

"I'm judging this objectively. I have never been in love, so I wouldn't know from experience."

The girls came back a couple of minutes later. Frankie had a stern expression on her face. She nudged Charlie foward.

"I'm super-duper extra sorry for all the trouble I've caused you, and by that I obviously mean deceiving you and stealing your rad car, AND almost shooting you." Charlie said without taking breaks to breathe.

"And?" The brunette pushed.

"Aaand please don't press charges, I swear it won't happen again."

"Yeah, my car is rad." Dean nodded to himself. "Alright, pumpkin. Here's the deal: you give me my car and my stuff back, I leave and forget this ever happened."

It was more than reasonable.

"Of course!" Frankie jumped in.

"Of course..." Charlie repeated with much less enthusiasm. "Follow me. All of your stuff is in my room, except the food. I ate all the food."

"Even the pie?" Dean asked, walking beside her along the hallway.

"Yeah, that was some pretty good pie." She shrugged as she twisted the doorknob.

The bedroom looked like two styles that crashed into each other. It made sense since it was both her and Frankie's room, and they seemed different from each other. Frankie's temperance met Charlie's eccentricity.  
Their walls were painted in a pleasant shade of purple, and decorated with numerous posters and pictures. The bed was enormous, dressed in soft mint sheets.

Charlie explained the dynamics of their room: "We meet at the middle, where the bed is. The right side is mine." She pointed to the messier side of the room. Looking into that direction, the first thing Dean noticed was a spacious desk, and the computer. Everything was just so out of place: toys, comic books, CDs, half-eaten pizza slices. She had just managed to beat him in untidiness. "The left side is hers." She gestured towards the opposite side of the bedroom. Frankie's side was much simpler, much more organized than Charlie's. The only messy thing about it was a pile of crumpled pieces of paper on her much smaller desk. That made Dean think she was into writing or something.

"We like it like this."

"How long have you been living together?"

"Five months... Watch out!" Charlie passed the keys before turning away from him again. "Now your porn. You got a fine taste in women, my friend." She began to rummage through a drawer.

Under a teddy bear, the man caught a glimpse of her driver’s license. Without much thought, he slid it from underneath the toy to have a better look at it.

"Celeste Middleton?" He read.

"Hey, don't touch that!" The red-haired girl was fast. She grabbed the license from his hand and put it into her pocket.

"Celeste, Charlie, Georgia? Who are you, really? "

"I am Charlie. Celeste Middleton is my birth name, and Georgia... Georgia is just a name I go by when... "

"You go in for the kill?"

"You can call like that."

"Listen, Dean, I really am sorry. It's just that, when you've been doing a thing for a while, it’s hard to stop all of the sudden. You know what I mean?" Charlie laughed. "Probably not."

"I do, actually."

"Really? What's your addiction?"

"Hunting."

"Hence the rifle, huh?"

Once Dean and Charlie were done gathering his things from her room, they returned to the living room where Frankie and the angel were chatting quietly on the white couch, oblivious of their surroundings.

Frankie's hair was no longer wet, and Dean could see its real lenght now. Her hands were holding a mug of something steamy - coffee, judging by the smell. There were two more mugs on the table, waiting for him and Charlie.

"Oh, hey." Frankie looked up from the mug. Her eyes, blue and golden around the pupil, met Dean's half-way.

"Hey." He answered her, but he was looking at Castiel instead. "Everything ok?"

"It's quite interesting, actually." Castiel said.

"What’s interesting?"

"Frankie. She could see my wings."

"What?"

"Get out of here!" Charlie said excitedly. "How did they look like? Were they big and cool like Warren Worthington’s from The X-men?!"

"I saw them briefly back in the garage and..." The moment flashed through Frankie's mind. Her handgun was pulled out of her grip by an inexplicable force and sent across the room. She looked over at Castiel. For a couple of seconds, his face was blurred by light, a pair of large black wings spread out of his back. "Yah, I suppose they were cool like that." She ultimately said in response to Charlie.

"But how?" Dean was really curious.

"Some people are capable of percieving an angel's true form, it is not something that hadn't happened before. It's just rare." Cas explained.

The man nodded, coming up with another question: "Aren't you two at least a little bit freaked out by this while situation?" He asked the girls.

Charlie laughed. "Freaked out? Are you kidding me? This is hella exciting! It’s basically fiction coming true, man. Since angels are real, I wonder if demons, werewolves and other supernatural creatures exist too. Why''d you ask? Did you freak out when you met Castiel?"

"Me? Nah!" Dean snorted, however, everyone could see through his lie."I think it's time to go. Cas?"

Castiel put down his own mug and got up. The girls walked them to the door. Dean thought it was funny how they turned from enemies to buddies in only one hour. Life was strange like that sometimes. Irony had always been God's favourite."You two take care of each other good, alright?" He told the girls.

"You too, bitches." Charlie replied, grinning. Dean made a face at that. At first, he frowned, but it didn't take long for his features to soften. She extended her hand, inviting him to a fist bump; their knuckles met as he added: "Stay out of trouble, kiddo." Dean proceeded to hug Frankie. Castiel just waved and headed for the Imapala. That was expected of him.

Dean said goodbye and took his leave with a feeling contentment flowing through his veins. He got his angel _and_ his car back. What could have been better?

He stopped in his tracks, grimacing at the thought he'd just had, at the way he'd reffered to Castiel as _his_ inside his mind, because no, Castiel was his own person. He definitely did not belong to Dean, nor Dean wished he did - nor Castiel wished he did.

His soul was something sacred, while Dean's was just scarred, so why would an angel want it in any way? Falling in love with a beam of light possesing a human body seemed ridiculous anyway. It wasn't even a woman’s body, there were no curves for him to lust after.

But why was he even considering falling in love with Castiel?

"How does falling in love feel like?" Cas asked as if he'd just read his mind.

"Why'd you ask?" Dean became alarmed. Then he remembered. "Oh, right. You told me you've never been there. I don't know what to tell you. Have you ever seen a movie where... "

"No." Castiel cut in. Dean looked at him briefly before returning his attention to the road. The sun was setting, slightly blinding his vision.

"So you've never seen a movie before. Alright, this is gonna be hard then."

He took a moment to think. Castiel just filled the silence with another question.

"Where you in love with Lisa?"

Dean felt his chest shrinking. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about Lisa. Sam tried to open the subject once or twice, but he wasn't very cooperative.

"Yeah. But I don't think she was."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, sometimes I felt like Lisa wanted a father figure for Ben more than anything else. In any case, I was happy to be part of their family." Dean paused and shrugged to hide the fact that he cared. "So yeah, I don't think she was in love with me."

 

"I understand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying myself.  
> See ya next time.


	7. Sucking on dreams

They were back at the motel, sitting at the table in Dean's room. He was stuffing food into his mouth as Castiel watched without blinking. It was kind of creepy, but the man didn't say anything.

"I am surprised at you, Dean." The angel said, breaking the silence.

"Meaning?"

"Forgiveness is a distinctive virtue. I did not think you would forgive that girl for stealing your car."

Dean stopped chewing for a couple of seconds, his eyes shifting from the delicious slice of pizza to Castiel. He pouted involuntarily.

"You must have a pretty low opinion of me then."

Castiel tilted his head sightly to the left as a grimace took over his face. "No, I don't. Not anymore."

"But you _did_ at some point." Dean teased.

Castiel's gaze fell into his lap as he replied with sincerity: "In the very beginning I regarded you as being overdramatic, savage and shallow."

"And now?" Castiel offered Dean something that he could risk and call _smile_ , something so small and pure like a bud that hasn't bloomed yet. The corners of his pink mouth flexed with coyness. There was some kind of tenderness residing inside his eyes that captivated Dean. "Now I think of you as... not overdramatic, savage and shallow."

"What an improvement. Thanks, Cas." Dean laughed it off like nothing, but he was flustered. His face was burning for some God damn reason, and the food lost its taste. "Alright, well, I am... "

"Tired." The angel finished off.

Dean raised an eyebrow, asking cautiously: "Are you... reading my mind?"

"No, I've noticed."

"Ah." Dean said dumbly. "I’m gonna catch some z's, you... are you staying?"

"If you don't mind, I would like to stay."

Dean nodded, keeping to himself questions like: "Are you sure?" or "What changed your mind? Last time I checked being near me wasn't 'beneficial' for you.". He went to the bathroom to change himself into something more comfortable, to brush his teeth.

He was halfway through brushing his teeth when the lights flickered. That made him drop the toothbrush in the sink and look up, then look around suspiciously. He remembered. The same thing had happened at the motel they'd booked in Omaha.

His first instinct was to shout at the angel to stop playing around with his superpowers. But then he remembered Castiel saying it hadn't been him, so it couldn't be him now either.

Just like last time, he chose to ignore the oddity. This time, however, he would keep it in mind.

"So, what are you going to do while I sleep, beside staring at me like last time?" Dean asked casually, passing by Castiel, and throwing himself onto the bed. "Actually, no... the question is, if you guys don't sleep, how do you occupy your time?"

"Are you referring to angels in general?"

"Yes."

"We work, Dean."

Dean propped himself into an elbow to get a better look at Castiel. They locked gazes as he pushed the conversation further.

"And how do angels work? What do you do?" He read about angels being fierce creatures, about Castiel in particular... but those articles had been written by people. People's  knowledge was limited, sometimes inaccurate, so he wanted to hear the truth from Castiel's mouth.

"Whatever God commands me to." Castiel replied, voice low and slightly defensive. Or least that's how Dean perceived it.

"The same God whom you prayed to back in that church and didn't bother answering?" The man delivered his words with unintentional acidity.

"He is my Father and my Creator." The angel said coldly, becoming stiffer in his seat.

"What kind of father lets his son down when he needs him the most?"

"Who are you to judge Him? You are just a man."

"Have you ever thought that maybe your God created angels to serve him and men to doubt him?" That theory was something new, even for Dean. He continued: "You and me, we belog to completely different parties. But we can agree that God is a real asshole at times - for no apparent reason. If He's so freaking mighty then why doesn’t he just unleash you. If He's such a good father, why doesn't He just come pick you up and take you home?"

"God's ways are higher than ours."

"Bullshit, Cas!"

"Just go to sleep."

Dean bit back an ironic laugh. "That’s your way of shutting my mouth? Too bad, buddy, you’ll need more than that."

Cas raised from his chair, making Dean think he was going to kick his ass or something, but no, the angel just walked to the window to open the curtains. He remained there, with his back turned to Dean, and his eyes to the moon.

The man rolled his eyes at the cold shoulder he was giving him. Castiel was mirroring his own behavior from earlier that day. At least he learned fast. Dean wasn't going to beg for attention. "Whatever." He whispered angrily, throwing the blanket over his head. He fell asleep soon, leaving the angel prey to the silence of the night.

The clocks hit 2 A.M., and Castiel was standing sentinel at the foot of Dean's bed, humming a lazy tune to go with the slow, repetitive dance of his chest. It pleased him to see his forehead free of wrinkles, his breathing natural and steady like a newborn's, his fingers unclenched.

Castiel was no expert when it came to his Father's creation, but he could appreciate its beauty - human beauty. Dean was one of the most beautiful humans he'd ever seen, even when he was mad, although he prefered him happy. He wished Dean could look this peaceful all the time. Perhaps that was too much to ask from a simple man. Afterall, the angel could see most men were miserable in a way or another; he'd already learned what was like for a delicious-looking red apple to be rotten inside. The perfect example was right in front of him.

The clocks hit 3 A.M. when Dean's breath hitched, and along with his, so did Castiel's. The humming stopped, but it somehow still lingered in the air.

Dean tossed and turned a few times. Castiel was quick to give a diagnosis: A nightmare. Something was weird though. The whimpers coming out of his mouth were not of pain or fear, but of pleasure, and they confused him.

Castiel continued to watch him squirm under the thin blanket, unable to tell if he should wake him up or let him be. A long, airy moan, shaped like his name, cut the silence, shooting shivers down the spine of his meatsuit. The cheeks started burning as he looked away.

Dean was dreaming of him.

Embarrassment overwhelmed him. Castiel knew he shouldn't be reacting that way. At least Dean Winchester had the excuse of being human. What was his?

Dean's mind calmed down after a little while. The angel was thankful for that. He started humming that lazy tune once again.

-

When the morning sun kissed the sky, Dean was woken up by the loud sound of his ringtone.

Through a blurry vision, the first thing he saw was Cas leaning against the window frame, reading a book. Their gazes locked for only a second, enough for Castiel to acknowledge the fact that he was awake before returning to his lecture.

He rubbed his eyes, groaning. A headache was pulsating at the top of his scalp. It was slowly spreading. His hand reached for the phone, knocking a few things off the nightstand in the process.

"Fuck." Dean muttered with a husky voice. His underwear felt slightly sticky and wet. "Fuck... " He said again, and took Kevin's call. "What time is it?"

"It’s 7:10!" Kevin’s tone of voice was way too enthusiastic for Dean’s liking. How could anybody sound so ready for life and energised at 7 in the freaking morning?

"I'm going back to sleep now, bye."

"Wait, don't hang up! You need to hear this. I think I found something - someone, who could help us with the spell."

"Us? This is not your mess to clean up."

"Comon, Dean, I wanna help. Beside that, whatever you do, you can't stop me. My mom says I have been born with a will of iron and the stubbornness of a mule."

"That makes two of us. Who’s this person you are talking about?"

"His name is Nadeen Nakhraj, if I spelled that correctly."

"What is he, a witch?"

"I think the correct term would be wizard since he's, you know, male, but not really. He's a shaman - a very powerful one apparently, capable of healing any illness and breaking pretty much any evil spell."

"And how did you stumble across such guy?"

"Reasearch, my friend... I've stayed up all night and now I am overdosed with caffeine so I can stay awake... But, hey! It was worth it."

"We don't know that yet."

"How about we meet for breakfast and I give you all the details?"

"Fine. See you in 30 at Arbuckle's pavilion. Is that good?"

"Great, see you then!" Dean’s head hit the pillow again even if there was no chance of going back to sleep, and he knew that. Feeling displeased like a child who had to get up and go to school, he rolled off the bed.

Castiel was fast to react, asking Dean where he was going to which Dean responded with an eyeroll. "I'm going to take a fucking piss. Why, wanna come help me with my pants or something?" He told the angel, and then he paused, realizing that he should have chosen his words more wisely. "No, that wasn't an invitation!" He added, pointing an accusatory finger at Cas.

"You are angry. Why?" Cas asked, perplexed.

"Because - because we had a fight last night and I'm supposed to be angry. You should be, too."

"But I am not angry at you, Dean." The man remained speechless, staring into that pair of blue eyes. His lower lip quivered a little in hope to come up with yet another smart line, but his brain was unable to cooperate. Dean was struck by the way Castiel said that so innocently. _How dare he say that so innocently, flashing his longass eyelashes at him?_ Now Dean couldn't stay mad at him. He was outraged.

"Anyway..." He finally said, feeling dumb as hell.

-

The volume of the radio so low Dean could barely hear the music. But he was satisfied with the white noise it provided. All buckled up at his right side, Cas was still reading. He claimed to have found the book in Baby's truck. Taking a first look at it, Dean couldn't remember it.

Taking a second look, however, he indetified it as being the gift Sam got him on his last birthday. Only Sam could give him a book as a present, knowing very well that Dean didn't even like to read. His brother was an asshole like that.

"Is it interesting?" Dean found himself asking.

"It's highly entertaining and it depicts a lot of characters but they keep dying after having intercourse with a mysterious female."

"Good times. Well, you know what they tell teenagers: don't have sex or you'll die." Dean chuckled, sparing Castiel another glance. He was nowhere near amused. "Or not. It was a joke, nevermind." The man quickly turned his sight back to the road, but Castiel's gaze never left him.

Dean heard the book being closed slowly.

"Dean, did you have a nightmare last night?" Castiel inquired, and Dean couldn't percieve any emotion or underlying intention in his voice, but it was terrifying nevertheless. "No." He said harshly, hoping Castiel would pick up on his unwillingness to talk about it and shut up. Fortunately he did. The rest of the ride was just... quiet.

Sitting in silence, side by side, was nothing unusual to them. It was more of a second nature, actually. But that was not their type of silence, it was one of those uncomfortable moments of silence strangers shared.

-

"Hear me out, this guy's the real deal." Kevin said in the same enthusiastic tone as earlier, taking a bite from the vegetarian omlette he had ordered. The fork was shaking between his fingers. Next, he gulped down half of his tall apple juice in one sitting, as Dean and Castiel exchanged glances.

"Kev, you okay? Dean asked.

"Hm. Define 'okay'. Excuse me, miss!" Kevin stopped the waitress walking by. "Hi, could you bring me another coffee?"

"Pal, take it easy! You just had two now, and God knows how many before we got here. We're fine, thank you." Dean sent the girl away with a wave.

"Hey, come back! " Kevin yelled after her, and then he turned to him with a desperate face. "You don't understand. If you take away my caffeine, I might die."

"Listen to me... You seriously need to chill, alright? It’s not that bad. It's like you’ve never pulled a white night before."

"Uh, yeah, that's because I've never pulled a white night before, just like I’ve never missed school before, yet here I am for you. You should appreciate that."

"You're my hero. Focus now."

"I’m focused. So, at first, of course, this dude seemed sketchy as hell but promising too, so I had to dig some info about him, and I did dig pretty deep. All of his ancestors seem to have practiced shamanism, some of them being considered actual wonderworkers. The Nakhraj clan was basically venerated for centuries, albeit being pretty private about the whole thing. That was until something happened in the 50's - I couldn't find out what - and it suddenly ceased to exist. There’s only one survivor."

"This guy."

" _This guy_." Kevin repeated with cocky smile.

"I totally believe he's a fraud but fuck it, right? It's the best we’ve got."

"He lives in Nevada. I got his exact adress from a woman who went to him last winter. I checked it out; apparently it’s legit. Two questions: when do we take off? And is Sam coming with us, considering, you know, the tension between you two..." Kevin's gaze switched from Dean to Cas, adding: "Three?"

"Let me tell you something. Since the day Sammy was born, things have always been something like this: Dean gets in trouble, and who's gonna pay? Dean, obviously. Sam gets in trouble. Who's gonna pay? The answer is still Dean. You’re asking me if we're gonna take Sam with us? Damn right we will. It’s about time he assumes some responsibility for once."

"In moments like this I'm glad I'm a single child."


	8. You can't escape what you fear

They left on Friday.

It was a one day journey so they prepared properly, with tones of food, neck pillows and gadgets to help them pass the time. Kevin spent the first two hours on the road playing games on his gameboy, while Sam kept tapping on his phone. Dean was just trying to feel the music and not crash the car into a tree, throwing an eye on the rearview mirror from time to time to check on the angel in the backseat.

When he and Sam met again for the first time after Sam Winchester had cast the damn spell, well, it was _awkward_ for all of them. 

"Sam, you... look the same." The angel told Sam, probably meaning it like some kind of compliment to break the ice with, or who knows, really. Castiel was a strange little guy, and not the best conversational partner one could have. 

"Castiel, you, uh... _look_." Was what Sam said, seeing Castiel in flesh for the first time. They hit the road soon after that. 

Dean appreciated Castiel's effort in trying to be civil with Sam because, truth be told, he'd expected the angel to act in a much more negative manner towards his brother. _Hell_ , if Dean were him, he would've ended Sam on the spot, or he would've at least got some kind of revenge for all the shit he'd put him through. 

That didn't happen; Castiel was nothing but nice. And Sam avoided looking directly into his direction, probably, _finally_ , feeling some guilt washing him on the inside. 

They chose Friday so they would be back by Tuesday. Both Sam and Kevin had courses to attend then. Dean was so bored by their schedule, and by their stupid conversations about homework and law, and exams, so _annoyed_ that he made a new rule: _whoever starts another school talk gets thrown out of the car._

Kevin laughed. Sam looked him dead in the eyes and told him Dean wasn't joking around. He told Kevin about that one time when they were on a roadtrip together and Sam complained about his music choices. Dean threatened to pull over and leave him there. Sam didn't believe his brother would do that to him so he continued to argue and complain, and as a result he had to walk a mile till the nearest hotel to call a cab.

Dean groaned, hands gripping the steering wheel tight. "Could you stop bringing that up, please?" 

"I'm just letting them know before it's too late, I’m doing them a favour!"

"That was ages ago, people change." 

The air was becoming drier. It meant Nevada was getting closer. The skies darkened and got splashed with stars.

Dean's mind began to travel. He was curious - curious if the shaman they were going to cross paths with could really break the spell and free Cas; if he truly was able to do that, Dean knew he would miss the son of a bitch. He would probably spend the rest of his life wondering if he's doing alright up there.

Despite his mild superiority complex and lack of social skills, Castiel pretty much rubbed off him, whether he liked it or not. Dean was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Kevin nudging his shoulder, at first.

"What?"

"We're in Vegas, Dean. I'll guide you from now on, I memorized the map."

Like a serpent, the Chevy Impala slid across pavement and between the buildings. It was late at night, yet Las Vegas was wide awake, bathed in neon lights and noise.

The directions Kevin had been given walked them through a hell of a lot different neighbourhoods. The last one was definitely the least agitated of all. 

Dean performed a back parking with grace and ease. He heard one of the doors in the back being opened and closed, followed by Kevin's muffled voice from outside the car: "Man, it feels good to be able to stand up again!"

Dean chuckled. He looked at the house whose door they were about to knock upon. It was weird. The mere fact that the house was not weird-looking at all was actually what made it weird in the first place. 

Dean had been expecting a small cottage, in the middle of the dessert. Instead, he got a normal-ass looking house, like the ones in the suburbs - nice porch and all. 

"Kind of fancy for an old quack, don't you think?" He asked nobody in particular. His younger brother agreed. Castiel was silently displaying the same skepticism. Kevin was already at the door, knocking. There was no answer. 

"Don't tell me we've come all this way for nothing." Dean complained loudly. 

Kevin huffed. "I mean... Look at the time. He might be sleeping."

"Dude, look around. Nobody sleeps here."

"We're talking about a 70-something years old man." 

Suddenly, the ivory door cracked open, only a little bit, wide enough for the tip of a rifle similar to Dean's to get through and be pointed out at them. It was too dark for him to figure out its brand and the model. 

"Get the fucking angel out of my property. Now." The man hiding behind the slightly opened door demanded.   
Dean had no idea why, but the voice gave birth to some kind of panic inside of him, so he did what he usually did when he panicked in a situation - _he made fun of it_ : "Comon, there is no need to be racist." 

"Dean!" Sam intervened. "Sir, we don't seek to cause any trouble. We just need your help because we've heard you could help us."

"Why would I help an angel? One of them killed my family. They're evil."

"That explains why the clan Nakhraj ceased to exist in the 50’s." Kevin whispered to himself while Castiel tried to reason with the shaman.

"I can assure you none of 'us' was sent on Earth on a mission to exterminate your kin. If it was an angel, it must've been a rogue or a fallen one."

"And why would I believe you?" 

Dean started to lose his patience. "Because he's a good guy. Because he could’ve fried your ass by now if he really wanted to, but he didn't. There's that."

The old man was hesistant, but after a minute or so of tension, he ended up putting the weapon aside. He opened the door wide to reveal himself: he was short, his hair was silver and long-ish, kept in a low ponytail.

He gestured for them to come in, without losing sight of the angel.

The interior of the house was like an inverted imagine of the exterior. There was hoodoo crap everywhere. The walls, the ceiling and the floor were covered in various symbols. They all sat at a table. 

"Who told you about me?" The shaman asked, to which Kevin replied: "A woman, she was here last winter. Her name was Margie Ruth... curly, blonde hair, cursed by her ex. Anything, anything?"

"I remember her, yes." Nadeen told him, his brown eyes squinting at Dean and Castiel before speaking again: "What in the world is going on between you two?"

"Funny you noticed. You see, someone put a spell on me and the angel here, and now we share this kind of 'bond', I guess." Dean said as if he was delievering a self-deprecating joke.

"No, I wasn't talking about that." The old man affirmed, squinting his eyes harder. _What the hell was he talking about then? There was nothing else going on between him and Cas, was it?_  
Dean felt Kevin's and Sam's eyes on him, judging him, while Castiel’s gaze, somehow daunting, was pointed at Nadeen.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Listen, buddy, I don't know what you're implying here but, uh, back to business."

The old man huffed wryly. "Of course."

"The spell - can you do something about it?"

"Wait here. Don't touch anything." With that, Nadeen went away only to be back a few minutes later with a huge book in his hands - a dusty, old book with yellowed pages and hard maroon covers. 

"There might be a way, uncanonical, but it’s the only way, I'm afraid." He started flipping through the pages as

Dean sighed. "Uncanonical - that's great. I don’t even know why I was expecting something different."

"I don't agree with it either, but with a spell so strong and dark like this one... The only efficient weapon you could use to fight back is black magic." 

Nadeen started reading from the book, using his index finger to follow the words. "You must do the ritual on a day when the moon reaches the same phase as the day when the spell was cast, at the same hour. The ingredients... They are hard to find. The one who cast the spell... It was you, wasn't it?" He asked, looking at Sam, and the boy just nodded, surprised that he hit the nail right on the head. 

That wouldn't be the first time he knew something without them telling him. The guy had also recognised Castiel's true nature and picked up on the connection between him and Dean. He was quite gifted. 

Nadeen proceeded to explain: "I can sense energies, see auras, and you, you are the only one here whose aura has been affected by magic usage. Since you are the one who cast the spell, you must be the one to unbind them, do you understand?"   
Again, Sam nodded slowly. 

The shaman continued by telling them that the spell was highly theoretical which meant that it hadn't been tried in the past so there was no solid proof that it worked.

At the end of the day, all they gained was a probability. No real solution, just the possibility of one. 

Dean was fuming.   
Kevin and Sam had failed in their attempts to cheer him up. Castiel reassured him that he would find all the ingredients in no time...

Black candles, black rose petals, copal incense - Dean could've sweared they were planning a romantic date instead of a magic ritual if it wasn’t for the other ingredients: the blood of both him and the angel, mixed with a pinch of sand from the bottom of the ocean, three tablespoons of lunar soil, wings of a baby ninghtingale, a few tears of a nephilim, dried out eggshells of earthworms. 

The moon was balsamic when the spell brought them together; now they had to wait for the next time the moon reached its last phase. According to the calendar, that was going to happen in five days. 

-

"I am going now." Cas announced as Dean casually stripped off his shirt and fell onto bed. They were back in Silicon Valley - same city, another motel. 

Dean was used to the life on the road. Being chained to one single place never stood right with his libertine personality. Even after he had moved in with Lisa, he still continued to travel a lot. The only difference was that he had a place to come back to, someone waiting for him home. 

"Where? We just arrived."

"We've talked about this, Dean. I'm going to gather the ingredients."

"You said it won't take you very long."

"I recall saying that. I'll see you-"

"We have days to our disposal. Forget the ingredients for now. Let’s do something."

"Something?" Castiel asked, frowning.

"What do you want to do with me?"  
Dean’s face cringed. "Firstly, don’t say it like that. It sounds... wrong. I want us to do something _together_. Secondly, I don’t know, something."

"I beg your pardon." Castiel took a step back, titling his head. "Dean, you're too vague, how am I supposed to know what you mean by 'something'?" He inquired, finger-quoting the word "something". 

"I mean, let's get out of this motel room. I'll show you the little things that make a man's life. Have fun on your last days on Earth and fly away with good memories. How does that sound?"

"What's gotten into you?" 

Abruptly, all the enthusiasm inside of Dean withered, proof that Castiel knew how to be a real party popper. 

"Nevermind. I'm just being silly, I guess." His face clouded. Castiel didn't say anything for a few seconds, maybe a full minute. _Was it really just a minute though?_ To Dean it felt like hours drowning in silence and rejection.

"I didn't say no." Castiel said with a brusque change in attitude, his voice coming across a bit shier than he would've liked. 

"What?"

"I didn't say no. In fact, I would like us to do something together, Dean. I'm just surprised that you are willing to indulge yourself some time to relax. Generally, you are quite... "

"Quite?"

"...Self-destructive."

A soft laugh escaped Dean's lips. "Am I?"

"Why are you laughing? This isn't funny."

"I laugh so I don't cry." 

If there was one thing Castiel has learned about people during his time on Earth, it was the fact that they were complicated. 

People never really meant what they said. The words that formed inside their heads didn't match the ones that slid out of their mouths. 

Sometimes they cried when they were happy, and laughed when they were sad, which more than often led to misunderstandings. 

  
-

  
In Dean's opinion, dive bars have always been unrightfully underestimated. They were the funnest: attractive bartenders, cool jam, an atmosphere that was homely... 

On the downside, there were always some suspicious fellas lurking this type of bars, but hey, nobody's perfect. Plus, occasional fist fights between drunkens could be fun too. 

"This is my church." He said proudly, winking at the girl working behind the bar. Castiel looked at him with boredom.

"Your church smells like alcohol and sweat."

"It's awesome, isn't it?"

"What are we doing here?"

"Just because you don+t need to, it doesn't mean you can’t. You _don’t need_ to drink and eat but that shouldn’t stop you from trying."

"You want to get me drunk." The angel said as a matter of fact. 

Dean's face cringed (again).   
"No, we’ll get drunk, _together_."

"I see you like using the plural when talking, Dean,  but that doesn't change anything."

"You agreed to this." 

Dean proceeded to order two draught beers - Staropramen... because that was his very first beer. He shared it with his father, albeit in completely different surroundings. They were on a hunt. He was 16 if he remembered correctly. 

"How is it?"

"It’s tasteless but I can feel the alcohol producing its effect."

"That's all that matters, trust me." Dean smiled, patting the angel on the back. Cas just nodded and took another long sip.

"Now, the second best thing when going out: the chicks."

"The...?"

"Girls. Women. Females. Hopefully at the end of the day you end up with one. Do you know the best way to get to their hearts?"

"A sincere declaration of pure love and devotion?"

Dean choked on his drink. "Yeah. Only if you think of marrying her. Otherwise, the real answer is pick up lines, Cheesecake." 

Castiel raised his eyebrows so Dean decided an example was needed.   
"How about this: Is your dad a thief?" He questioned with smugness.

"My dad is God, Dean, you know that. If this is another way of yours to take His name in vain-" Instead of verbalizing his wish, Dean just raised a palm in front of Cas. He got the message and stopped talking.

"You're supposed to ask 'why'. Just go along with it, okay?"

"...okay. Why?"

"Because it seems like he stole all the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes." The line was finished with a short-lived grin.

"That... doesn't make sense. My eyeballs would be incinerated." 

The man pinched the bridge of his nose out of frustration. His features were red and magenta under the lighting of the bar. The rock mixed with synthwave playing in the background was starting to make him delirious.

"Fine, let's try another one. If I had a garden, I’d put your two lips and my two lips together."

"Oh." The angel's face lightened up. A faint smile sprouted at the corner of his mouth. "I get it. It's a wordplay."

"Yeah, good." Dean nodded, distracted by the said smile. "But you should probably stick to the classic ways. Did anyone catch your eye tonight?" 

Castiel began to look around the busy bar. He spotted a group of young females a few chairs away from them. They were beautiful and all, but they didn't interest him much - neither did the males. He turned his head back to Dean, who was pending for an answer.

"Nobody beside you, Dean." 

Unsure of how exactly to react, Dean just laughed and took a sip of his beer, looking the other way. The gesture made Castiel think that perhaps he had said the wrong thing.

For some reason he continued to stare at Dean with uncharacteristic fondness. Dean knew his eyes were still on him. Despite that he refused to meet them again for a long time. 

"How does Heaven look like?" He asked at some point.

"It looks like whatever you want it to look."

"Sounds fake."

Castiel shrugged a little. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" 

Dean's head involuntarily rotated towards him only to find out his smile had never really left. It looked like he didn't know how to do a full smile - both corners of his mouth lifted, lips spread properly, and all that - so he settled for that... that sluggish, half-smile, that might not even look like a smile to some, but it was enough to kill Dean softly.

Because it made the blue in his eyes deeper, like an ocean he was willing to drown in. It made him look alluring, just -- alluring.

But Dean pushed those thoughts in the back of his mind as soon as he became aware of them. Trying to ignore the warmth in his stomach, he said: "Go ahead.". Then with a trembling hand, he brought the beer to his mouth.

"When Sam asked me to... bring you back. You were dead by books, but still stuck in the limbo. If I hadn't brought you back, your soul would have gone to Heaven."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Normally, I wouldn't be allowed to tell you this. I just wanted you to know you are a good man, despite whatever you think of yourself, despite... "

"My self-destructive personality? I get it." Dean laughed, then he added with sincerity and a strong voice. "Thank you, Cas." 

"You're welcome." 

The man shook his head, feeling high and amused - it could be Castiel, it could be the alchool. Who knows?

He looked down at his drink. The liquid in his mug was vibrating slightly. He blinked a few times. The vibration only grew in intensity. So much that the beer slipped out of his grip. 

Then the floor began to shake violently. All the lights popped, and the bar went pitch black. Everyone panicked. Dean looked over at Castiel. He was... frightened.

  
"It's an earthquake!" Someone shouted. _It couldn't be_. Castiel couldn't be scared by something so trivial as an earthquake. 

"We need to go." He grabbed Dean, squeezing the flesh of his arm a bit tighter than necessary.

Dean was too shocked to do anything but comply, expecting them to run back to the car. It didn't happen like that. 

Cas teleported them to freaking _Antarctica_. The abrupt change in temperature hit him instantly. 

" _Castiel!_ " He cried out, hugging himself for warmth. "What the fuck, man?"

"I am sorry, Dean." 

"Good. You should be. I'm gonna die from hypothermia... Is that a fucking bear?" Dean asked through clenched teeth, looking into the distance. Castiel followed his gaze with his own to see a polar bear sitting on top of an iceberg. 

"It is. But they attack humans only if they are seriously undernourished." He answered, taking his trench coat off and handing it to Dean. 

"What a relief." Dean put on the coat as fast as he could. It wasn't much - the thing was made for autumn - but it was better than nothing. Castiel's body warmth still lingered on the inside, embracing him nicely.

It smelled like him, too. Like something pure. Like the cabin smelled on the morning of his resurrection.   
The angel had a distinguishable scent of cleanliness, of fresh air and fresh-cut grass, and _bla bla bla_... 

"Dean, are you listening to me?"

"Huh? Yeah. You were saying... something."

"I should have told you earlier."

"Tell me what again?" 

Castiel began again, stopping in the middle of a sentence. He looked away, and that was not good. You see, when someone looks away during a conversation, many words are left unspoken. Dean had to make sure Cas told him everything.

"Look, buddy. Whatever it is, know that you can trust me. No matter how thick the shit is, I won't get mad at you. What are we running from again? Just tell me. Please?"

"There are angels, certain angels, that think I am not... adequate to return to Heaven, that I am a step away from falling."

"They're assholes."

"These 'assholes', as you call them, are my superiors, and they have been questioning my behaviour, my relationship with you, they have been watching me - us - closely since we... visited that church."

Dean's eyes widened.

"You're telling me some featherheads have been creeping on me this whole fucking time without my knowledge? For fuck’s sake, Cas! Hell, yes. You should've fucking told me!"

"You said you won't get mad..."

"Ha! I’m not mad! It’s not like I’ve got any reasons to be, right?"

"Then why are you yelling profanities?"

"I was being sarcastic. Of course I am mad! Very. Is that everything, is there more to it that I should know? ‘Cause hear me out, if you want us to keep it on friendly terms, you gotta talk to me, man. You gotta trust me with this kind of information. Do not keep it from me. We're in this together."

"I am... sorry." Castiel repeated. The rue in his eyes made Dean back up, calm down, lower his voice considerably.

"How do we get these parasytes off our backs?"

"We don't. We let them be. I behave, they let us be."

"Behave? You're not their dog to 'behave'. You're free to do whatever the fuck you want. God, I don’t even see what was so bad that you did to deserve to be put under their radar in the first place."

"As an angel I have a policy to follow. I am not entirely free, Dean. But sometimes I forget that when I am with you. I say things and... I forget."

"What does that mean?"

"It means they're always there and I should be more careful."

"Are they watching us now?"

"No, but it won't take long after they catch up with us. I truly angered them this time."

"Back at the bar. That was them?"  
Castiel nodded. 

"Are you going to be okay? They're not gonna hurt you or anything, are they?"

"They would either have to take me back to Heaven, which they can't, or take over a meatsuit for that, no. They are angels in their true form, on Earth. They are limited as they are now. They can't hurt me, but that doesn't mean they can't hurt you, or the people around."

"Then thanks for getting me out of there, I guess. Can you zip us back now?"

"I'll send you back to the motel." Cas raised a hand to touch the skin of Dean’s forehead and do his number, but Dean stopped him, pushing his icy fingers away from his face.

"What about you?"

"I’ll be waiting for them here. There are things I want to discuss."

"You better be back in one piece, you bastard. And don't keep me waiting like last time."


	9. What is sweet is bad for the teeth

Time passes irregularly when you don't sleep. That is why the morning arrived faster than he thought it would.

Throwing an eye out on the steamy window, he saw the skies were grey and golden, and the sun raw-looking.

As far as Dean could tell, it was going to be a nice day, hopefully not a Cas-less day. He was sincerely worried about the son of a bitch.

-

Dean got in the driver seat and buckled up. He usually didn't bother putting on the belt so he wasn't sure why he did it this time. He was about to insert the key into the ignition and start the car when a voice startled him.

"Where are we going?"

The key jerked out of his grip, as he hit his hand on the steering wheel hard.

"Shit!" He shrieked, pulling the hurt hand next to his chest, shielding it with the other one. He squirmed in pain for a few seconds, and then he looked up.

In the passenger seat was no other than Castiel. He sighed out of relief. "A notice would've been nice. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Unlikely."

"Yeah, if you say so." Dean resumed his previous activity. Shortly, the sound of the engine running confirmed he was good to go.

"Where are we going?" Castiel asked again.

"Sam - he thinks I'm his personal chauffeur or something. He called me earlier, asking me to take him some places."

"Alright."

"How did your little meeting go?"

"It went well."

"That's all? Oh, wait. They forbidden you to talk about it, is it? They must be around, huh? If anyone's listening, get this: go choke on a dick, you major _cunts_!"

"Dean, stop. Noone is watching us now."

"What? Where'd they go?"

"I don't know where, or why. But whatever the reason, I am sure it won't be long until they return."

"Let them come. What about your angel radio, still broken?"

"I hear only the things the other angels want me to hear, nothing else - and I can’t reply."

"And you just gonna take that?"

"Yes." Castiel said firmly.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. I have no word in this."

"Of course you do. No offense, but angels sound like some real communist pieces of crap."

"How am I not supposed to be offended by that?"

"You can't let them control you like that."

"I live to obey, Dean. You don't understand. You... you are human."

"You keep saying that like it's a bad thing, but wouldn't you like to be human?"

"No." Cas denied with the same firmness as earlier.

"You would. You would love to be able to taste the food, and have sex, and get away with white lies, and make your own choices."

The tension between the two was increasing little by little, like a filling balloon on the edge of exploding. It only deflated when Cas raised his voice.

"Dean, I said _no_!"

When Castiel raised his voice it was time for Dean to back off. He apologized on a solemn voice. It didn't feel good upsetting Cas. He didn't deserve it. Dean wished he could keep his mouth shut sometimes. The angel didn't speak a word in return, leaving him wondering if his apology mattered at all.

Dean drove his brother from place to place: first to a local library, then to the airport to pick up a package, and then finally to a supermarket to buy some items for Kevin. Sam was able to see something was wrong. Dean would always complain about wasting fuel and such whenever Sam asked him to drive him somewhere. But not now.

"I'll be back in a sec. Don't miss me too much." Sam told Dean, shutting the car door behind him.

For the fourth time that day, Dean found himself alone with Castiel in his Impala. The home field advantage wasn't working for him. He was losing ground.

He called the angel by his name, and funnily enough, Castiel called Dean's name _at the same freaking time._

"You first." Their words entangled.

"You first." The man repeated hastily before the blue-eyed angel could open his mouth one more time.

"Okay." Castiel agreed softly.

"I like what I am and what I do."

"Okay." Dean copied his soft tone, nodding. That encouraged Castiel to speak further.

"I feel like I've been put in this world to fight the good fight and serve God. But truth is, I'm no angel. I disobey. Even now, my superiors commanded me to stay away from you and yet, here I am - with you."

"You are different, that's what you are. And different is good in my agenda. It means you aren't just a brainless machine. You know what orders are worth following, and what orders are just plain stupid."

"They told me you would say something similar. They think you are bad influence, that I am prone to..."

"Do you think I am bad influence?"

"No..." Castiel admitted hesistantly.

"Fuck 'em, then."

A great dose of adrenaline rushed through Dean's limbs. It slid down his chest into his stomach. He felt it behind his ears, in his face. Everywhere. The blood in his veins was pumping hot.

He was pushed foward, closer to Castiel. His fingers gripped the back of his seat tight, pinning him down.

Dean's body and mind didn’t synchronize anymore. His brain screamed "no", unsure of how to send the right signals to the body to make it stop from getting any closer to the angel.

To his surprise, Cas remained still. He didn't try to push Dean away physically or through the look in his eyes. On the contrary, he was open, _anticipating_ , careful not to break the eye contact between them. Dean's gaze fell onto his lips, breaking it anyway. Castiel's fell into his lap then.

The tip of their lips barely touched before one of the back doors flew open, making the young man jerk back.

"Dude, can you believe they made the tuna casserole 50$?" Sam asked casually, entering the car with two grocery bags.

"I don't know. I don't eat tuna casseroles." Dean said a little breathless. He tried his best to sound casual and failed. His heart was running wild. It needed a break, but Castiel just continued to watch him intently, and that didn't help at all.

"True. Everything alright?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, right! I almost forgot. I got something for you too. Your favorite... Cherry pie, was it?"

"Apricot, but cherry works too."

"Shit, sorry."

"It's fine. Are we done? Can we go?"

"Sure."

-

"Apricots and peaches are on top of the pyramid, and then there's the cherry pie, closely followed by the famous apple pie."

"How about pecan and sweet potato?"

"They're good, but not I-would-eat-them-everyday good."

"Can you turn off the conservative pie talk? I'm trying to study." Sam interrupted Dean and Kevin. "What are you still doing here?" He asked, gesturing towards his brother.

"Excuse me? You take advantage of me and then you dump me, is that what you do? What kind of man you are."

 _What was Dean still doing at their dorm?_ That was a good, tricky question.

Dean simply didn't want to be left alone with Castiel - not after what happened. But he couldn't say that outloud. He felt so dumb.

"Shut up." Sam rolled his eyes.

"I am going after the ingredients." Castiel announced out of nowhere, sitting up from his armchair.

Kevin couldn't help a frown. "Like right now? We still got time."

"I... I have estimated the time needed to gather the necessities for the spell wrong. I must go now if I want to be back by the time the moon reaches its final phase."

"Oh, okay?"

"Cas." Dean sat up too, clearing his throat. "Can I have a word with you... in private?"

Castiel threw him a confused look, but nodded anyway. He followed him into the other room.

"Dean?"

"What's going on? Did you just bullshit us or do you really need more time now? "

"I - yes, I need more time."

"Very well, I guess. You, um, make sure to stay safe and all."

"Is that all?"

"What? Oh, yes! Yes. That is... That's all I wanted to talk to you about. I, uh, better get going and leave you to it." Dean let out a chuckle.

"Yeah." Cas said weakly before flying away.

"You guys keep secrets from us?" Sam asked once his brother returned.

Dean snorted: "No! Secrets? That's a good one, Sammy."

"Man, you sure sound guilty."

"Gotta agree." Kevin said, his mouth full of pie.

"Both of you, shut up, okay? Castiel and I have no secrets. There's nothing going on between us that you're not aware of."

"Aha! That's exactly what a secret-keeper would say." Kevin's voice resonated again.

"You know what? I think I'll be going now. Bye!"

Sam began to laugh loudly as Dean proceeded to snatch the rest of the pie out of Kevin's hands. "And I'm taking the pie with me. Have a nice _fucking_ day!" And he was gone.


	10. In his name

Dean died on October 16th, at 11:48 pm - _suicide_ \- he shot himself in the head. Sam put a spell on Castiel at 4:13 am, after numerous attempts to reach him through the phone. Dean was given his life back at 4:44.

-

They were only 2 hours away from breaking the bond and Dean was growing impatient. Freaking Cas hadn't shown up with the ingredients yet, which only made it worse. And the fact that Sam and Kevin looked _so damn calm_  made it worse than worse.

"It’s kind of windy tonight." Kevin observed, opening up a coke. Sam hummed lazily in response, typing something on his laptop.That annoyingly cozy atmosphere was truly driving Dean crazy.

"I am going to take a walk." He informed them. The motel was lifeless. The only person still awake (beside them, of course) was probably the receptionist.

_Yup._

As Dean walked out the main door, his thoughts were confirmed. The old guy was still awake, watching TV. He shot Dean a curious glance when he saw him descending the stairs. Dean bowed in a greeting gesture. He followed a random path, not having a particular destination in mind. Walks were funnier that way.

After crossing a few streets, he found himself in a playpark. He spotted a lonely red ball that probably belonged to a kid who'd left it behind by accident. He kicked it gently and it rolled into a sandbox.

It was cold. They were on the brink of winter after all. _Man_ , he hated winter with all of his soul. From the slippery ice, high humidity, and muddy... everything, to the distasteful holidays that came along with the season. Winter meant staying inside or freezing outside. It meant putting on three different sweaters and looking a pinguin (and still freezing).

 _Why would anyone favour winter when there is summer?_ He thought.  
_Ahhh...summer_ \- the season of warm skin and lemonade, long days and pastel skies. Dean digged summer. And despite popular belief, that was not because his personality fitted the season in some way. On the contrary, he had never been a sunny one.

There were many things he liked that didn't necessarily suited him: summer, geeky stuff like comic books, hospital dramas, the apple-pie life he had with Lisa, a little angel named Castiel.

He was a modern man - that might serve as a good explanation. The modern man is complex. The modern man is troubled.

At the moment Dean was troubled because they had less than one hour left and Cas was still gone. However, a part of him wished for Castiel to stay gone a little longer. Long enough to miss the time of the ritual. Or even come back empty-handed. He was not ready to say goodbye. A call from Sam destroyed the little hope.

"Castiel is back."

Dean wasn't sure how to react.  
Should he fake relief? Should he act casual? Should he be honest?

 _Okay_ , he said to himself, _The second option._

"Cool. I'm heading back, then. See ya when I get there."

As soon as he stepped into the motel, the lights flickered. Dean and the receptionist exchanged looks.

 _They_ were there. _They_ were watching.

To Dean's disappointment, the angel found every _fucking_ thing: black roses, sand and soil, eggs, tears of a worm, yadda-yadda. There was no turning back now.

"Thanks, I'll take over from here." Sam told Cas. Dean was tempted to lend him a helping hand, but Sam didn't really seem to need one.

He moved around like he owned the place. He started by lighting up the candles and the copal-scented incense. He continued by drawing out a little table and placing all the ingredients on its surface. He quickly counted them, and then he pulled out a bowl and a... _mini-blender_ from his backback. Dean was confused.

"Are we making pancakes now?"

"Umm, nope. I forgot to mention that you guys must swallow this stuff so I might as well make a smoothie out of it."

Dean gagged a bit.

"Are you fucking kidding? I'm not putting that in my mouth, it’s disgusting."

"Eh, I don't know about that. The recipe could've been a lot worse." Sam shrugged. "Now, for the last part we need your blood so pour it out."

Dean grabbed a silver penknife. He placed his arm above the bowl and its sharp blade traced the fair skin of his wrist. Rich red blood started dripping out of it. Kevin had to excuse himself because the kid got nauseous at the sight of blood. _How convenient_.

Castiel approached Dean, rolling up his own sleeve. He exposed his naked wrist to him, and they locked gazes for a moment. Then Dean took his hand and, a bit gentler than necessary, he pulled it a closer to the ceramic bowl to perform the same superficial cut on him.

"'Kay, now I'll let this beauty settle for a little." Sam told them after blending the ingredients.

"You do that." Dean replied, looking at Castiel instead.

"I'll go check on Kevin."

"Yeah, you should totally do that." He cleared his throat as his brother left the room.

"You're nervous." Castiel noticed.

"And you're not wrong."

"Why?" The angel asked, tilting his head. Dean surprised him with a bitter chuckle.

"Magic rituals aren't exactly part of my daily routine, Cas."

"Don't worry, it'll soon be over. Plus, you don’' have to do anything special. Sam will take care of it, and after he does, I'll be gone in a blink of an eye."

"I know. Listen, Cas, about you know what..."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean by 'you know what'."

"I mean the thing back there, in the car."

"You mean the kiss?"

"It wasn't - it wasn't a kiss..." _Come on, it wasn’t a full-on kiss since their lips barely even touched._

"It was more of an almost-kiss. Le'’s call it like that, the almost-kiss."

"What about it?"

"I don’t know. I was thinking maybe we should talk about it."

"What's there to say? Your level of oxytocin was high in that particular moment. That triggers a wide variety of psychological and physical effects."

"Oxytocin?"

"The love hormone, as some people call it. It often occurs when two... individuals look each other in the eye. Technically, the human body is pure chemistry - a beautifuly shaped conglomerate of atoms, and naturally, it functions based on chemical reactions."

"Oh, yeah. That... That's exactly what I was going to say, yeah. Excluding the "love" part, I guess. So, are we cool?"

"Dean, of course we are 'cool'."

"Really?" _Because I can't help but feel like I fucked up. Because I couldn’t help but feel like you used the ingredient pretext just to get away from me as soon as possible._

"Yes, Dean, I just told you so."

"I'm sorry, I was just making sure. I didn't want you to get any weird ideas. Don’t get me wrong, Cas, you are a handsome son of a bitch and all, but I definitely don't swing that way, uh, I mean feel that way towards you. Kissi... I mean trying to kiss you was a mistake."

For no more than a second, Dean saw beyond the austere face of the angel. For only a second, Cas almost looked _hurt_. Dean blinked, and whatever he thought he'd seen was gone. Maybe he was imagining things.

"People make mistakes." Castiel said in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Thanks for understanding, honestly."

"It's okay, Dean. It was nothing."

Perfect timing - Sam dragged Kevin back just as soon as Dean and Cas ran out of lines.

It was 4:42 which meant it was about time to start. The balsamic moon was poor in light; an eerie stillness fell upon the room as Sam pulled out a folded piece of paper where he had written down the words of the spell. He unfolded it with care. Kevin brought to the table two tall glasses he filled with the magic "smoothie". Sam began to recite: "I call upon the forces of the univers. I call upon the forces that keep these two souls locked together. I command you separate them, I command you free them. Let what belongs to the sky, return to the sky. Let what belongs to the earth, stay on earth."

Dean watched Castiel gulp down his glass with an emotionless face. He tried to do the same, failing miserably in the end. The thing tasted like iron, and rotten chicken, and dog shit, and it kept coming back. He looked up at Sam with a tragic expression. Sam looked back at him, and then around the room. _Uh-oh, something was not right, was it?_

"What now?" Deans asked, wiping the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

"That's all. We completed the ritual."

"What? Nothing happened..." Kevin said, disappointed.

"We don't know that for sure. Castiel, do you feel any different?" Sam raised and eyebrow. Castiel was about to reply when the earth started shaking. Dean knew what that meant; he'd already been through a similar situation. However, Cas did not zip them to another continent this time. He stayed put, _waiting_.

An incredibly bright light invaded the room; it increased in intensity to the point he could no longer see anything. Since his eyes had no use, he closed them. The next time they opened, everything was back to normal - or so it seemed until Dean spotted three strangers in the room: two girls, one red-haired with big brown eyes you couldn't ignore, the other one blonde and a bit taller, and a black guy - strong-builed, mean-faced. _Angels._ He thought. And _wow!_  They were dressed like freaking accountants, too. _What a surprise._

"Hello, Castiel." The blonde girl said, stepping foward. Her speech was somehow robotic even though she looked at Castiel like he actually meant something to her: "It's time you come home with us. But in order to pass the Gates, you know what you have to do."

Castiel remained silent, looking conflicted. Something was definitely not right. Dean, Sam and Kevin exchanged confused glances and chose to remain silent as well.

"What are you waiting for, a special invitation? We gave you clear orders, now follow them, you crybaby!" The black guy yelled. The same blonde angel as earlier shut him up quickly.

" _Uriel_." She called his name in a threatening manner. Then her attention returned to Castiel. "The natural order of things must be restored. If you don't do it, one of us will anyway."

"I can't."

"Redemption is only a step away."

"I..."

"Oh, for the love of God! It's just a mud monkey. There are million others on this insignificant little planet." That _Uriel_ guy didn't seem to know how to keep his mouth closed.

"Castiel, please."

"He won't do it." The brown-eyed girl spoke up and all the heads turned to her. "Don't you see? He loves him. He won't do it. You beg in vain, sister."

Castiel's gaze fell on the ground. Uriel let out an ironic chuckle. "How tragic - and disgraceful. And I warned him how many times? You were there, Hester." He sighed. "Let's do our jobs and get out of here. We'll decide your punishment for disobedience after we have dragged you back home, little brother. Who wants to do the honour?" He handed out a knife. The girls looked at each other for a moment, and then the red-haired one took the weapon, locking gazes with Dean.

Kevin was the first one to react. "I feel like it's a good time to run, guys."

"No. I want to know what the hell is going on. Cas, care to explain?"

Hester raised her voice: "Castiel owes you no explanation, Dean Winchester!"

"Sorry, lady, but he kinda does - because I'm his friend."

"Don't you dare! You don't even know Castiel. We are the ones who truly care about him. We are his friends, his family."

"With control freaks like you, I'd rather have no family."

"Enough of this soap opera crap." Uriel intervned yet again. "Anna!" The red-haired girl started walking towards Dean. He instinctively took a few steps back, knocking over the table.

"I can asure you there's no need for violence!" The lawyer inside of Sam tried to reason with them. Dean knew it was useless. They weren't here to listen. They were there to kill him. 

As she was passing by Castiel, he took the chance to grab her arm: "Anna, don't." He pleaded.

"He isn't supposed to be alive, Castiel." She said, pushing his hand away. "His soul shall return to the limbo to be judged." Weeks ago, Dean would've laughed and shaken hands with the Reaper. Death still didn't phaze him much. But the fact that Cas seemed so unwilling to let him die made him want to stay alive too.

Anna's face was steady although she was about to take a man's life. How did she do it? She was getting closer so he had to think fast.

_Run or fight?_

He was not the type to back off from a fight, however, Sam and Kevin grabbed him before he got to make a final decision. They began to run. Anna was faster than them. "Sleep." was all she had to say in order to make Sam and Kevin drop motionless on the floor, snoring. She then teleported right in front of Dean, pointing the weapon to his chest.

His eyes closed.

Dean heard the unmistakable sound of a piercing blade. _How strange..._ He didn't feel anything. He touched his chest, patting the shirt in search of blood. There was none. Maybe he was dead already. The blade might've killed him on the spot, painlessly.

"Castiel..." It was Anna’s voice, it was strained.

Dean's eyes opened. _Nope_ , he was not in the limbo, he was _still_ at the motel.

His breath hitched as he watched Castiel pulling out a bloody blade out of Anna's back. Her own knife slipped out of her grip, knees giving in. She fell as well.

"Forgive me." Castiel told her. She blew up like a firework and burnt out like a match, leaving behind traces of wings printed on the parquet.

"Are you out of your mind?" Uriel looked terrified. So did Hester. "You are doomed."

Castiel positioned himself in front of Dean like a scout in order to protect him. That didn't sit well with Uriel, who pulled out another blade.

"Move aside, soldier!"

"Get through me."

"What a peculiar creature you are."  
Uriel laughed before he threw himself at Cas. He aimed for the neck but Castiel blocked the attack. After many unsuccessful attempts to slaughter his throat, he changed the strategy.

Uriel pretended to go in for a punch only to distract him when in fact his goal was to trip him, and make him hit the ground. Succes - Castiel rolled over right before the other angel got to crush his skull with the sole of his shoe.

They wrestled on the floor for a little while. Castiel got on top somehow - a minor victory that didn't last long. Uriel managed to stab him below the ribs. Castiel was knocked out of breath. The wound wasn't that deep but it hurt like a motherfucker.

To Dean's amazement, he was bleeding out light. Only if he knew it was truly just Castiel himself slipping through the cracks of his vessel.

Smart enough, Castiel used his disadvantage as an advantage. He waited still, playing much more vulnerable than he actually was. Uriel let his guard down, thinking he'd already won. Castiel took him by surprise when he approached. He quickly stole his blade and digged it into his heart. Whatever had happened to Anna, happened to Uriel too.

Castiel was left panting hard, using his hand as a bandage for his wound.  
Dean ran to him and stopped him from collapsing.

"Cas, hey. Take it easy."

Castiel proved to be hostile when Dean offered help, insisting he could stand on his own. He could , mostly, but he lacked balance. His eyes met Hester's. Although he was ready to fight her too if he really needed to, Castiel was secretly praying for her to just leave. She gave him a dissapointed look before she vanished.

Castiel's muscles were finally starting to relax in Dean's hold.

"Are you okay, can you walk?"

"Yes, I can." Castiel nodded, but just as soon as he tried to make a step, he lost all of his balance. Dean was there to catch him before he hurt himself. He guided him to the bed and told him to lie down. The angel just sat down instead, resting his back on the headboard.

Dean recognized the behaviour, he'd seen it before in the wildlife. Wounded animals would tend to keep themselves alert for threats, and out of vulnerable positions such as lying down. On a subconscious level, an animal was aware of the difference between the hands of a friend or foe. That's why Dean was torn. Castiel was still acting out of fear and instinct, keeping his distance when he should've known Dean was not an enemy. He should've known it was okay to let his guard down around him. It wasn't like Dean could hurt him anyway. Angels were no match for him. What could a man do?

"Let me see. I'm trying to help."

"Help me by leaving me alone."

"Can't do. We’re still bound, aren't we? The spell didn’t seem to work."

"It did."

A simple sentence sent chills down Dean's spine. He frowned, looking deep into Castiel’s blue eyes. "What?" He asked breathlessly although the intended question was " _Why?_ ". If the spell worked it meant...

Castiel shook his head, rolling his eyes. Dean took that as a sign of exhaustion. He deviated from the subject a little.

"What is that?" He pointed to the knife Castiel was still holding tight.

"Angels can't be killed by normal weapons. The only thing that kills them is the angelic blade."

"I thought you guys were already dead. Where do angels go after they die-die?"

"We disintagrate. We shatter - into million pieces. And our remains are scattered around the galaxy."

"Doesn't sound painful at all."

"It is."

"Can I see it?" Castiel looked at the man cautiously. It really hurt Dean.

"Cas, it's me. What do you think it will happen?"

The angel stared at the blade for a moment, then he handed it to Dean slowly. He reached it just as slowly.

"It's heavier than I thought. What is it made of?"

"Angel grace."

"What's that?"

"Our essence - source of power. It's a lot of things really."

"So grace materialises into this iron-like thing. And then what? You turn it into blades?"

"Something like that."

"But how does grace look like in its raw form?"

"Like light."

"Right. Because you guys are glowing Christmas lights, I forgot." Dean paused before asking: "Will you be okay?"

"Yes... The wound will heal on its own... but it will take time."

"How long?"

"I don't know. Days?"

"That's not very long, you heal fast. We need to get you somewhere safe."

"There is no place safe for me. I'm a rebel. Hester must have already told everyone in the garrison what happened here, and they... must be on their way to take my head."

"That means we should hurry."

Castiel sighed. "You are incredibly stubborn."

"Aren't you, too?" His muscles relaxed completely at the smile Dean gave him.

"What's the plan?"

"We need to ward this place against the other angels."

"How do we do that?"

"I'll show you."

Castiel cut the inside of his left hand, and used the blood as paint. He replaced the brush with the tip of his fingers. The door was his canvas.

Dean took care of the windows. The symbols Castiel had instructed him to draw were repetitive and simpler than what he was doing.

"Let me get this straight: no angel in, no angel out? Once we finish painting these sigils you're pretty much trapped in here."

"Oh, no." Castiel paused to look at his work so far. "I could go outside, but that would be unwise of me, don't you think?"

"You're making a good point."

"My head feels so heavy." Sam groaned, rolling over the carpet.  
Seeing that Kevin was still sleeping next to him, his hand reached out to get a good grip of his shoulder and shake him vigorously.

Kevin jerked awake, all alarmed and confused. "Angels!" He yelled. "We need to go!"

"They're gone, Kev." Sam said nonchalantly, scratching the back of his head. "Except this one." He added after spotting Castiel at the door. His attention turned to Dean who was now becoming aware of the fact that he and his roommate were wide awake.

"Did the spell fail?" Sam inquired.

"What do you think?" His brother said a bit too loud after exchanging fugitive glances with Cas.

"Hey. I'm sorry, Dean. You knew there was a chance - wait a second, what are you guys doing?"

"These are enochian symbols." Kevin affirmed with confidence. Once he was back on his feet he felt like he could fall again. He noticed the wing prints on the floor and made a step back. "...Holy shit. What is this?"

"What happened here?" Sam asked carefully.

"The angels attacked, Cas fought back and took two out in the process - end of story."

"That's right." Sam started remembering bits and pieces. "Those guys were about to freaking stab you. That girl... Angel, I mean."

"Dead." Dean confirmed.

"Oh... What are these symbols for? Enoc-what?"

"Enochian! It's the language of the angels." Kevin said.

Dean threw another look at Castiel, who didn't return the favor this time.  
"Cas got hurt during the whole thing. He needs to stay put a few days, just enough so he can get his strength back. What we're doing is we're turning this room into an angel-proof one. You know, to make sure no angel tries anything funny while he's still vulnerable."

"Aha. Wow. Okay, well, how about you? You're still wanted, aren't you?"

"Probably."

"Dammit." Sam paused for a minute, and then: "Kevin, you can go back to the dorm. I'll be staying here with this idiot brother of mine."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh no!" Dean yelled. "I don't wanna hear it. Sammy. You are going back with him."

"Dean. No matter how much you try, you're not dad. We're no longer kids either. You can’t tell me what to do."

"I'll be fine! Tell him, Cas."

Castiel obliged: "I will take care of Dean - like I always do."

Defeated, Sam let out a sigh. "Will you, really? "

"I promise."

-

The night was young and dark to its core. It was a night that lacked stars and came with a milky white moon and fog. Dog barks could be heared in the distance. Castiel knew that tranquility was often deceitful, that what was evil loved to lurk in the darkness. At some point he was disturbed by the siren of a police car closely followed by the one of an ambulance. Alongside the blue and red lights, the loud noise managed to snap him out of a deep meditative state. Soon after that, he heard shuffling behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Why are you still up at an hour like this?" He asked softly, eyes staring off into space.

Dean replied on the same soft voice: "Couldn't sleep. I could've asked you the same of I didn't know better."  
He joined the angel on small light brown sofa that his motel room provided. He appreciated the way it matched the armchair, and how all the colors of the place generally fell together nicely - it was a pleasant palette s natural color such as creamy yellow, shades of brown, black and dark green.

"You lied to Sam." Castiel said.

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. He really only avoided the truth. "Why did you do it?"

"Are you asking me why I killed two other angels?"

"To protect me, I know. But _why_ did you do it? I thought the thing you wanted the most was to go back home."

Castiel avoided eye contact as he answered: "It changed."

"It did?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. What I want now is freedom. I want to - no - I'm going to fight for what I care about, for what I think is right, and not for what anyone else thinks it is. I'm no longer blindly following orders."

"Since you saved my ass, I suppose I count as one of the things you care about, huh?" Dean asked jokingly. The angel, as expected, didn't laugh, or even smile. He looked at Dean, dead in the eye, and took him by surprise when he agreed: "You do count." He spoke in a slow manner, carefully choosing his words. "You are very dear to me, actually."

Suddenly, the atmosphere turned too serious for Dean's liking. The man's chest felt heavy, but he didn't let his playful façade fade away.

"Thanks. You're alright too - I guess."  
Hearing this, the angel's face cringed a little.

"I was teasing you." Dean laughed, punching his shoulder lightly. Castiel turned away from him. _Shit_ , Dean thought, _I fucked up again_ , but then he saw Cas smiling to himself. _What a rare sight._

"Recently I've seen a stork building a nest on top of the chimney of an abandoned country house. Its craftmanship impressed me; it is a truly regal and graceful bird."

The man pushed the irrelevance of the matter aside, trying to stay focused. He was curious of where Cas was taking their conversation.

"This very morning, on my way to the motel, I passed by a park. I saw a young boy playing fetch with his dog named Snuggles. It was a lovely image."

"Well, a dog named Snuggles would naturally make anyone's day better unless they've had lemons for breakfast." Dean nodded, his mouth forming an inverted "U". He let Castiel continue.

"And now that I look closer I can see the freckles on your face. I've never noticed them before."

"The --? The freckles on my face." Dean deadpanned . "I don't get it."

"Yes! Dean, I'd visited the Earth thousands of times in the past and not once did I have the interest to look around carefully."

The angel didn't admit it out loud, but deep inside he recognized Dean as the real motive of his "awakening". Dean Winchester - a man whose simple presence was a catalyst for change. He had never met anyone like that before.

Little by little, Dean was starting to understand where Castiel was coming from. He couldn't help but chuckle at the childlike amazement and joy of the angel.

"Cas, you're really something, did you know that?" He was happy that Castiel climbed down his throne and allowed himself to sit back and smell the roses. The chuckle transformed into laughter, a long session of laughing Dean couldn't stop for a few good minutes. It was past midnight. He was both extremely tired and hyper.  
He was also pretty sure the oxytocin had to be messing with his head again or whatever because his hand reached out to grab Cas by the collar of his trenchcoat and pull him closer.  
Their lips crashed together, hitting each other at full speed. His movements were uncoordinated and a bit rougher than necessary. It was funny because Dean knew that even injured as he was now, Castiel could still crush him if he wanted to, yet he let himself be handled by Dean. He folded himself small underneath him, without any pretensions to dominance.

Slowly, somehow, Dean got on top of him, and a shiver ran down his spine when Castiel's hands instinctively found their way in his hair, tugging at it gently.

Dean could swear he had never kissed someone so hungrily before. Everything was a mess, from his knee falling between Castiel’s legs, to Castiel's inexperience resulting into him biting Dean's lower lip so hard it bled.

A simple chemical reaction or not, Castiel was the cause of it, and that was not changing.

"108." Castiel said breathlessly when Dean moved his lips from his mouth to his neck where he nibbled on the skin. Without putting too much thought into the action, his hand found its way down between his thighs, palming him there absently, and Castiel was starting to breathe even more irregularly than before. 

"Hm?" His voice sounded hoarse.

"108 freckles."

"Close your eyes." He told the angel before kissing him on the mouth again. Getting all hot and tight in the jeans felt good, but the question was: what was he going to do next? He'd always been with girls before, never with a guy. Hell, he was not even sure he wanted to go _there_ with Castiel. He froze, lips still glued to his. 

A few more seconds had passed and Dean broke the contact to look down at him: his blue tie was loose, his lips were puffy, his cheeks red, and he was seriously lacking oxygen - he was a mess. Dean had made him a mess in every way possible. A superficial guilt was pounding at the top of his chest.

And _shit,_ he realized his hand was still, not so discreetly, stroking his dick. He removed it in an instant while clearing his voice awkwardly. He felt like a fucking idiot.

Suddenly, Castiel cried out in pain, turning on his right side. Dean became alarmed. He got off him and kneeled next to the sofa. He cupped his cheek and talked to him like a worried lover would. His deeply tender tone surprised even himself.

"Hey, Cas. What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

Castiel shook his head as Dean helped him sit upright. "It's just the wound causing me some pain."

The eerie silence of the night returned to the room. The angel showed signs of tiredness, so Dean made him lay his head down on his shoulder.  
They leaned into each other like that for a while, sharing warmth and a pure intimacy. Their heartbeats became steady again with each second that passed on the ticking clock. _It's nice_ , Dean thought. It felt so good it scared him.

"You should go to sleep, Dean." Cas said, raising his head.

"Are you coming to bed with me?"

Dean could see the question took Castiel by surprise. His muscles stiffened as he broke the eye contact. Dean didn't let him get away with that. His long fingers framed his chin, turning his face back to him.

"To sleep." He explained calmly.

By "going to bed" he meant sleep - sleep as in rest, no overtones. Castiel studied his features and nodded faintly.

"You should take your coat off first." Dean told him, already starting to slide the beige trench coat off his shoulders himself. He also helped him get rid of the tie, throwing it into a random direction.

Then he led him to the bed and Castiel clumsily stumbled and fell backwards on the mattress. His expression was priceless. Dean suppressed a laugh and let himself fall next him, stretching like a cat.

They lied on their backs, side by side - eyes wide open. The ceiling was just as blank as the starless sky, there wasn't much to see. In a low voice, the blue-eyed angel asked: "Are you going to tell me this was a mistake, too?"

"I don't know." Dean replied, frowning.

"Is this the part where you vanish for days?" The man didn't mean to sound accusing, but ultimately he did sound like that.

Castiel simply stated: "No."

Where could he go after all? Why would he leave again anyway? It was not like he still believed good behaviour and closure of the heart would bring him closer to Heaven.


	11. Lover undercover

Sam knocked on door three times before it opened, at first just a bit, and then wider and wider. His arms felt sore because of the two large paper bags of groceries he was carrying with him. The one who answered the door was Castiel. He told him that Dean was in the shower. That seemed to be true, he was able to hear the water running in the other room.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam greeted him through the closed door. His brother didn't respond although Sam was pretty sure he had heard him. "I brought the stuff you wanted!" He shouted, peeking inside the incorporated mini-refrigerator. "You're not even running low on supplies, are you fucking kidding me?"

Sam pulled out a packet of bacon strips. " _What the fuck_ is this?

 _Frozen yoghurt?_ " He pulled out the frozen yogurt.

" _Beer and tortilla?_ " He pulled out the beer and the half-eaten tortilla.

Sam began to shout louder. "For God's sake! There's food for an entire week, why did you even make me buy all this other crap? Are you ignoring me in there?"

The water stopped running. A minute later, a half-naked Dean got out of the bathroom to see his younger brother fuming.

"Chill." Dean said casually as he grabbed a bacon strip and started chewing on it. "You can never have enough food. Besides, the things I asked you to buy me are different from what I have stored in my fridge." He started rummaging through one of the bags and ended up holding up a box of donuts. "See? If I wanted to eat donuts that would have been impossible without you buying me some."

"Don't speak to me ever again."

"Alright. So, how was your day?"

Sam sighed. "Boring. Yours?"

"Uneventful - which, according to Cas, is good. Angels aren't exactly the silent type. They like fireworks and flashy entrances. If they tried something we would know."

"Huh. Really, what have you and Cas been up to anyways?"

"Dean and I-"

"Nothing." Dean said bluntly, interrupting Cas. Sam raised a suspicious eyebrow at that and pried.

"You and Dean what?" This time around, Castiel exchanged glances with Dean before giving an answer: "Dean and I didn’t do anything in particular. He was quite tired yesterday so he went to sleep early. I watched over him throughout the night."

Sam was not buying the story. He looked over at Dean for confirmation, and when Dean went "Yup, what he said!", he knew he was lying. When his attention shifted back to Castiel, he noticed. In the crook of his neck a pink-ish purple bruise that could easily be mistaken as a love bite created an obvious contrast with his pale flesh.

Now, Sam couldn't be sure it was a hickey unless he asked. Or, he could always play dirty.

"Awesome. How about you tell me more about your time together, Cas." When Sam smirked at him, Dean realized he was fucked.

Castiel hesitated before saying: "Well, we've spent a lovely evening together, but it didn't last long since, as I mentioned earlier, Dean was tired."

"Lovely evening you say? What made it so lovely?"

"Sammy, don't you have another place to be?" Dean faked a smile. Sam smiled back, except he was actually amused.

"Oh, no! It's fine. I don't have any courses to attend or stuff like that this afternoon, fortunately. Cas, please, continue."

"Fortunately..."

"I, um, forgot where we left off."

"Your lovely evening with Dean."

"Yes, we - We shared stories and views upon existential matters and-" It was bad. The alarms inside Dean's head went off as Castiel started _babbling_.

"What else did you guys share? Perhaps a little bit of saliva?"

That was _it_. Dean burst into flames. Sam just burst into laughter.

"Out. Now!"

"I was talking to Cas, not you. You get out of our conversation. How rude!"

"Seriously, dude, stop. Cas and I... We don't. We're... friends."

"You do realize that's exactly what you said before you banged my friend's friend, Amy, right? Amy 'Pond' Payton?"

"No, I didn't! Oh, wait. That's true actually."

"Yeah, well... " Sam agreed, rolling his eyes.

"With Castiel is different."

"Sure thing."

"Shut your face."

"I would honestly appreciate it if you stopped talking like I wasn't in the room." The angel intervened, voice clear and imposing.

"You’re right, I’m sorry." The younger of the Winchesters said after clearing his throat. After that he excused himself to go to the bathroom. Dean could finally take a break... _Or not_. His gaze fell upon Castiel, who was looking back at him in a judgmental manner.

"Say it." He threw his arms up in the air.

"What do you want me to say?" Castiel made a grimace, tilting his head.

"That I'm a dick and a coward."

"For not telling Sam about...? Dean, I didn't even expect you to."

Dean approached Castiel and whispered. "It doesn’t bother you?" 

Castiel shook his head.

"But I lied, denied. If I was in your shoes I would be pretty mad, to be honest with you."

"You didn't say much. You said we were friends. Aren't we?"

Dean half-laughed, half-cried out. "We are, but I also freaking shoved my tongue down your throat last night. Let's focus on that, please, that's the real issue."

"Dean, I see no issue here. What bothers you so much about what we have that you think if Sam found out, he would hate you? Is it the fact that I am an angel? Is it my vessel?"

"Yeah, it's the fact that we're both... guys."

"You're silly. So the vessel was it. My apologies, I should've built myself a female vessel to walk the Earth."

Dean understood that the apology was only ironical. "Cas-"

"It’s fine."

 _Passive-aggressive Cas?_ That was something new. Dean was human; he couldn't help but act human, worry about earthly things, superficial things: the clothes he wore, the image he projected, the people he hung out with, the people he had sex with. He couldn't be as indifferent to these things as Castiel was. It was a factory fault. Castiel had to be aware of that.

Dean tried to redeem himself through a gentle kiss placed on the temple, near the end of his eyebrow. A single kiss was not enough, he knew, but it was all he had to offer for the moment. They parted as soon as they heard the bathroom door opening. Sam returned, complaining about one of the faucets of the sink not working - _or something_. Dean was not really paying attention.

Then Sam asked Castiel about the state of his injury. To Dean's relief, the angel was acting completely casual, like nothing happened while Sam was away.

"I'm glad to hear you're getting better." Sam told him, taking a look at the watch wrapped around his wrist. "Time sure flies fast, huh? Now, if you'd excuse me, I gotta meet up with someone in a few. I should be going."

Dean snorted. "You said you weren't busy today."

"I lied. Sue me."

"I might."

"I'll leave you to it, then. Oh, and Cas - please don’t let my dumb brother eat all the food at once, and don't let him mix two different dairy products. He knows the consequences, but he still does that."

"I will keep that in mind." Castiel replied, to which Dean shook his head in a "I'm done with this shit" way, rushing Sam out.

"See you in court, asshole!" Sam crossed the threshold laughing. His brother responded by throwing his middle finger up in the air (which only determined Sam to laugh harder) before slamming the door on him.

Everything was good, that's how they showed love to each other.

Dean took a deep breath and turned back to Castiel with a puppy face and a promise: "I'll tell him... later."

"I said it's fine." The angel half-shrugged, but the fact that he was avoiding eye contact made it obvious it was far from fine.

Dean tried a distraction. He proposed beer and a movie. Castiel made another little shrug, saying it was "up to him", which was code for "whatever", and everybody knew "whatever" was code for "I am mad at you, but I'm trying to look like I don't care."

Dean didn't let that disinterested reply kill his enthusiasm. He drew out the little round table, positioning it in front of the sofa. He placed his laptop on it, being glad he'd found a motel, both cheap and with free Wi-Fi. Dean told Castiel to sit down, make himself comfortable (which he did) while pulling out two beers from the mini-fridge. He handed one of them to the angel before plunging next to him.

"What do you wanna watch? Romantic Comedy? Thriller? Action?"

"I want to watch your favorite movie."

That had to be the easiest and the most satisfying answer Dean could have got.

"Super, 'The three little pigs' it is." He joked. Of course, Castiel didn't get the joke, and didn't laugh. In addition, he frowned when he saw Dean typing "The untouchables" instead of "The three little pigs". Maybe "The three little pigs" was just an alternate title, so he kept quiet about it. He got even more confused during the movie itself - there were no pigs what so ever.

Despite the fact that the name and the content didn't align very well, he enjoyed the movie. He liked the way Dean was so invested in it that he even forgot about the beer in his hand after a while. He was especially invested in the one federal agent named Eliot Ness.

Sometimes he said the lines before the characters had the chance to do so. Other times Dean paused the video to explain things to him. He listened with care, and was able to see Dean appreciated that.

Then the credits rolled as Dean's head rolled, too, towards Castiel. Finally, after an hour and a half or so (the angel was slowly starting to lose the concept of time), the man looked him in the eye for good. He leaned in for a kiss. Castiel thought he was going for the lips, but was taken aback when Dean's mouth landed on the side of his neck and puffed into it, making him shiver seriously.

"What was that?" He demanded, pushing Dean away.

"What?" Dean laughed. "This?" He did that thing one more time, but on the opposite side of his neck, and Castiel fell for it _again_. Again, he pushed Dean away.

"I haven't come up with a name yet. I used to do this to Sam when we were little - he's very ticklish."

"It's annoying."

"Great. Then Imma name it 'The Cas-annoyer'."

"Next time I will smite you." What a calm voice tone for a death threat.

"I'd like to see you try, Blue Eyes." Dean cupped Castiel's cheeks tight and placed a kiss onto his forehead. It was heavy and short, almost friendly - but not quite. Then he started pressing wet kisses along his jawline, a less friendly zone, mostly to reassure himself they were not just friends. Castiel wasn't much of a complainer, he let him do his thing. Dean moved to his neck, a much less friendly zone, where the proof of them not being just friends layed within the hickey he'd given him the night before. His stomach was still uneasy though. _What did they have, really?_ His lips found their way back up to cover the ones of the angel. This time around his touch was slow and gentle; this kiss was not tainted with lust like the previous one.

Dean had never kissed anyone so innocently before. No tongue, no moans, just warmth - the warmth of his body pressed against the warmth of Castiel's body, their lips lazily massaging each other. He was melting faster than an ice cream in the summer heat while sleep was weighting down his long eyelashes. How could he even resist sleep when Cas was caressing his face so tenderly?

"109."


	12. Black pledge

Castiel had the heart of a soldier, the hands of a pianist, and the eyes of a sailor. He no longer was the son of his Father, just pieces of his creation stitched together. Using his grace, he had shaped them into a vessel strong enough to contain him. He had every vital organ stuffed instead of him, yet he felt empty in the beginning. Like a shell. Like he, himself, and his body were two different entities. He didn't recognize his body as "his". It was just "a" body. But the angel was slowly becoming more aware of his physical aspect. He was starting  to work in union with it. 

Castiel stared at himself in the mirror and touched his wound gently.

"I estimate hours before it complets its healing process."

"How do you know?"

"I just do." Castiel's consciousness was in sync with everything there was to be. He knew the exact time the sun came up or went down, the time a battle wound would heal, and so on. It was part of being an angel although spending so much time on earth, amongst humans, with Dean, has slowed down his internal clock a little bit.

"What are you going to do, Dean?"

"Me?" The man asked, surprised.

"Regarding what?"

"You have been on a run this whole time. You... have been given another chance to life, but you haven't had time to fructify it because you've been busy trying to help me return to Heaven and I had... ruined that, and now we are hiding from angels, but about afterwards?"

Dean haven't really thought about it.  
"I don't know, Cas. I mean Anna said I wasn't even supposed to be alive."

"That's not true." Castiel said as an sympathetic reply rather than a fact.

Dean shrugged. "No idea. I was on an indefinite roadtrip before I..." The man imitated a gun with his hand, and pretended to shoot himself in the head. "I still am, I guess." He paused. "I could go back to repairing cars."

"You could be a hunter."

"I could... I could be a full-time hunter. Maybe I'll move to the mountains and become a hermit or something."

"You could have a family."

"No, not in every sense of the word."

"Do you not want children?"

"That's - that's not something I look forward to anymore."

"Are you afraid?"

Dean frowned and asked: "Afraid?"

"To lose them again."

Part of the reason was that. Dean felt he would fail again. But there was more to it.

"Whatever you choose, I will be by your side."

Dean stared at Castiel. That was not an easy promise to make... To stand by someone's side no matter how thick this shit gets, to stay with them forever - he could barely grasp the concept. The angel didn't exactly say "forever", but the way he emphasized the word "will" removed any signs of an eventual departure.

Forever is a long time. It isn't everyday that someone offers you their forever. Dean couldn't understand why he deserved Castiel's forever - as friends, or anything else.

"Good luck with that." Dean chuckled. Cas smiled in response.

-

"At least we tried, you know?" Sam said through the phone.

Kevin was secretly trying to listen to the conversation, but it was hard to put things together when all he was hearing was Sam's side. They were studying, scrutinizing the information, and binging on coffee and snacks when Sam got a surprise call from Nadeen.

"... Oh, yeah? Slow down a second. What about him? No... I see... Alright, and? Okay, I’ll pass it to him, thanks."  
The line went dead before Sam ever got to end the call.

"What did he say?" Kevin asked nonchalantly, grabbing a bag of potato chips.

"He... wanted to check on us. I guess. It was kind of weird."

"Tell me about it. That guy wasn't that much of a smoochzer last time I checked." A pause. "You look worried. Um, Sam, why do you look worried? Your face is literally giving me anxiety right now."

"Sorry. Well, let me see... He had this really vivid dream he felt the need to warn us about. He asked about Dean specifically."

"Wait, what was the dream about?"

"A lot of things, he was talking very fast. But from what I could understand, Dean's in trouble somehow, or... something bad is going to happen. I don't know."

"I mean, that's understandable. Dean is basically on Heaven's most wanted list now, isn’t he? But I doubt something bad will happen to him since he has Cas as bodyguard."

"No, but here's the thing. He said something bad is going to happen to Dean _because_ of Cas."

"And do you really trust that guy?"

"Hey, you trusted him."

"Yeah! That was before his spell failed to work. If you're going to trust someone, trust me. Don't believe a thing he tells you about Cas. He didn't seem to like him very much so he might as well make everything up just cause."

"I should probably still warn Dean."

"Your call, man."

"Right... You know what? I think I'm done here." Sam gestured towards the multitude of open books spread everywhere. "I'll clean up in the morning."

"I'll stay up a little longer."

"You do that. Just don't forget the lights on."

"Do I ever? I have asian parents."

Sam laughed instead of replying. He knew Kevin's parents were very strict. He had the privilege of meeting his mother once - fierce woman.

He fell onto bed rubbing his eyes. The mere contact between his skin and the fabric of his sheets made him yawn. He didn't even realize how tired he truly was. Sam's eyelids became so heavy he had to close them. At some point during the hypnagogic state of his consciousness, he heard a distant thump. It was loud, but not loud enough to make him react.

-

An excruciatingly loud thump perturbed his sleep. Dean jerked into a sitting position like electrocuted only to find Cas already jumping out of the bed, kicking the sheets aside, simultaneously hitting him in the face with them. He was too drowsy to care.

"What was that sound?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

Castiel was now at the window, trying to get a glimpse of the outside world through the painted symbols.

"An angel fell."

"Fell... It literally fell? How can you be so sure it was an angel?"

"I can feel its presence, but... I don't know who it is. It's hurt, and calling my name."

"No shit."

"It's not here to harm us."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dude, I hope you're not thinking of going out there to help. It's obviously a trap. Cas, you're smarter than that."

The man was a bit alarmed by the lack of response. Castiel pensively stared at him until he sighed and looked away.

"Perhaps you're right." He sounded so disappointed it made Dean feel guilty as hell. He suddenly realized that dicks or not, every angel that had come forth from the egg was basically Castiel's brother or sister, and he couldn't judge him for wanting to help them. It was instinctive.

"Hold on, Dean." Castiel's eyes widened. His lips parted as he patted his shirt, right below the ribs. Dean figured out what that meant.

"Let me guess. You're one hundred percent charged."

"I, uh, yes. I am."

"Do I really have to put on pants?"

Lamentation had never aided anyone. Sometimes you gotta get out of bed at one in the morning to rescue a fallen angel whether you like it or not.

-

The voice inside Castiel's head led him five streets away from the motel, into an alley. Dean followed behind quietly. The alley was wrapped in a thick blanket of smoke and darkness.

Castiel disappeared for a moment.  
When Dean found him again, he saw him crouched next to a tear in the pavement. It was almost like a mini-crater, round and deep, perfectly sized for a man.

"Samandriel." 

"Castiel..." Dean heared a young voice calling out from the crater. His curiosity pushed him closer to get a better look.

He saw him - a guy in his early 20s, judging by the vessel. The angel inside was probably much older. Bloody and burnt all over, his body had several cuts through which light was leaking. He must have been ganged by one of those angel blades, like Cas. Dean pitied him because he knew how much a single cut from that thing could do to an angel. It left them weak, and in pain.

The next thing the man noticed was his clothes. Underneath the blood was the uniform of a Wiener Hut worker. He was wearing the name tag "Alfie".  
Dean remembered Cas mentioning that angels could either take the easier path and possess a person, or take the extra mile to "make" themselves a vessel of their own.

Possession implied putting the person into some state of coma, pushing them in the back of their mind. Some angels deemed possession as "theft", claiming that only demons did such thing, and rejected the idea altogether.  
Creation was nobler, but it had its disadvantages. It took longer, and as an odd rule made by God, angels couldn't just copy an entire vessel; they had use different elements from different people - Frankenstein style - if God had ever seen that movie. Maybe he was a fan. Maybe he just liked puzzles. Or maybe he just liked inventing stupid rules.

"What happened to you?" Castiel's pale hand reached down into the crater and touched his fellow angel's cheek, healing his wounds. 

"Hester." Samandriel, or Alfie, got up. 

"Hester?"

"It's terrible. When she brought the news of... Uriel's and Anna's deaths, she unleashed chaos in Heaven."

"What do you mean?"

"Heaven is divided. Half of it demands you to be punished, the other half has faith in you still. They started a riot. Everyone is fighting everyone."

"A war in Heaven..."

"Which side are you on?" Dean found himself asking outloud. 

"What do you think, Dean Winchester? Do you think I would still be here if I weren't on Castiel's side?" The angel said that like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Some left to come down here and follow his example - live freely - some not in angel form, or within a vessel. Some actually gave up on their grace to be reborn as humans."

Dean snorted. "Cas, you seem to be the idol of a generation."

"I didn't wish for this." Castiel shook his head.

"As soon as I found a vessel for myself, two higher class angels attacked me. They tried to drag me back up, but I fought. I won. But not without damaging my vessel." The other angel added. 

"You are mistaken. You are all _mistaken_."

"Why are you saying that?" Alfie narrowed his eyes.

"Listen. I am... I am _not_ a good example to follow. Don't you know the cost of disobedience?"

"Everyone knows falling is just a myth. Old stories to scare younger angels."

"Falling _is_ real. Whose meat are you wearing?"

"An Arts student from San Jose."

"He is just a child. Let him go."

"No! If I do that there will be no place to go other than Heaven. I will have to go back and face Hester, and Michael, and - and... "

"I know, but please. Let him go."

Samandriel took a moment to think about it. 

"As you wish, brother. If you think this is the right thing to do, I'll listen to you..." He turned to Dean, raising an eyebrow. "Cas?"

"I, uh, yeah... That's my nickname for him."

"Cas." Alfie repeated, alternating between looking at Dean and looking at Castiel. "Are you ever coming home?" A moment of silence caused by nothing but Castiel's uncertainty. He didn't know how to answer. Samandriel nodded as if he understood. "Farewell." He said. Castiel took Dean's hand, pulling him a few steps back. Fast and blinding as the flash of a light, Samandriel left Aflie's body, returning to the sky like a comet in reverse. 

  
-

  
Dean wasn't sure what to make out of Castiel's quietness. He decided that it was probably the best to try to distract him from his thoughts. Hoping it would do the trick, his suggestion was a "nice breakfast to forget about everything for a little while".

"I don't eat."

"I know. We should have breakfast anyway."

"Dean." The angel protested, but he let himself be dragged to the nearest local diner anyway. In the distance, a church bell was rung to signify the beginning of the service. As the two entered "Ray’s Refilling", the sound was muffled by ambient music.

The place was far from fancy, but it looked friendly enough. There was a drunk old man snoring in a corner, face down on the table and beer in one hand, a middle-aged waitress flipping through the pages of a women’s magazine and chewing gum awfully loud behind the counter. There were orange and violet, single and double, booths to choose from. They just picked a random one.

The menu was rich in options yet Dean remained consistent by ordering burgers like he always did. They were told that the coffee was free on Sundays - lucky them. They even got to choose their poison. Dean got himself a Cappuccino. He threw three packets of sugar in it. Castiel went for black coffee. It was disgusting, but it was the best choice since he couldn't feel its taste - only its effect. Just like the beer.

"What are you thinking of?" Dean asked, locking gazes with him. He decided he liked the intimacy of the booth.

"The only reason we're still alive is because all the angels are too busy trying to kill each other."

"It’s not your fault."

"But-"

"It’s not your fault."

The lips of the angel formed a straight line. Whatever he wanted to say never left his mouth.


	13. Latent cloud cluster

There was a war above them, but on Earth, things were essentially peaceful - even if angels continued to fall. Their number increased significantly over the course of only a few days. Dean's plan was to stay in Silicon Valley with Sam for Christmas, and head home with Cas afterwards.

"Your place or mine?"

"Your place is a two-star motel, mine is a dorm."

"Then we should probably go out."

"I like the idea. We should make reservations, you know? Restaurants are full on holidays."

"Make 'em, you know these places better than I do."

"How many are we? You, me, Cas, Kevin...Anyone else?"

"Charlie and Frankie."

"Who?"

"Um, you'll meet them." His plan didn't include inviting the couple. He liked the girls, but they were not as close as to spend holidays together, were they? 

Charlie and Frankie proved him wrong when they accepted on the spot. And Dean didn't regret his decision. He barely knew them, or Kevin. But sitting at the table with them, laughing, sharing stories, and laughing some more, felt natural like they were old friends. His angel was sitting quietly at his left, while his brother at his right. Having such good company made him feel a strong sense of belonging.

After their order had arrived, they exchanged gifts. Charlie and Frankie bought all of them thematic sweaters. They were shocked to realize Sam was too buff to fit in his. It's the thought that counts, anyway. 

Sam bought everyone books, because he was... Sam. Everyone except Dean recieved theirs gladly. Truth was, Dean's present for him was the real highlight of the night. Dean got him a sex toy - the biggest fucking dildo Sam had ever seen. He choked on his wine.

"Let me introduce to you the Ultimate HQ-Pleasurer, limited edition on hot pink, 13 inches of good time."

"Dean, what the hell? Put that away, we're in a public place."

"Welcome."

"I freaking hate you."

Charlie reached over the table to take the object and inspect it. "Hey, this is actually pretty cool. I think it glows in the dark."

"You could use it as a lamp." Kevin added. "Just make sure you hide it when my mom comes to visit."

"That thing goes right in the trash."

"Don't you dare! I spent 25 bucks on it."

"Keep it then."

"Returning gifts isn't very polite... Right, Cas?" Dean turned his head to look at Castiel, but he wasn't there anymore. "Cas?" His eyes began to search the room.

"Maybe he needed to use the angel restroom." Charlie shrugged.

"Maybe. I'll be right back." With that, Dean abandoned his chair.

Castiel could have zapped anywhere in the world, but _he had_ _to look_ somewhere, so he headed for the exit.  
Pushing the door open, a wave of frost hit his face, but he sighed in relief.  
The angel was sitting alone on the short staircase in front of the restaurant, staring into the distance.

"Dean."

"Hey, Cas. The fun is inside, you know. What are you doing here?" The man asked, walking towards him. No response came.

Dean sat down next to him, following his gaze in order to see what he was seeing. A dark snowy parking lot - not the most interesting view. He was probably just spacing out for some reason.

"Is everything alright?"

"No. I don't know."

"What's up?"

"I..." Castiel paused to take a deep breath. "I saw one of my brothers in the eyes of a human sitting at one of the tables."

"There's an angel inside?" Dean asked, surprised. "He's not here to cause trouble, is he?"

"No. But dinning with his vessel's acquaintances like that, mimicking his personality..."

"He's pretending to be the guy?"

"I think so, yes."

"As long as he's here to eat, and not fight, he gets the green light from me."

"Dean..."

"What?"

"I... Nothing."

Dean didn't reply. Castiel didn't say anything either for a little while. The splatter of dishes from inside the restaurant and the collective sound of children singing carols somewhere near filled the silence.

"Damn, it's cold." Dean complained at some point.

"Go back to the others."

"I'll go back when you do."

Castiel was acting strange, and Dean was subcounsciously afraid of letting him slip through his fingers. There was no magic bond between them anymore. The angel was free as a bird. Anything could happen. He could fly away any moment.

While Dean was conscious of the fact that the angel had promised to remain by his side, he had his doubts. He tended to lose dear ones like a girl loses bobby pins. One day they're there, the next one they're gone.

"How do like your bracelet?" Dean's voice cracked as he became flustered. 

"I like it very much." Castiel admitted, looking down at his wrist, adorned by a silver sideways cross bracelet. "I want to give you something in return."

"What is that?" Dean asked curiously. Dropping his posture, he rested his elbows on his knees. Castiel stretched out his arm, and opened his fingers. In the middle of his palm, a small ball of light formed. It began to rotate, reminding Dean of a tornado. The light took the shape of a feather, then it evaporated, leaving behind an actual feather. Dean looked at it carefully.  
The angel was offering him one of the feathers of his wings. That sure was cool. He had never seen his wings before, he could only imagine. The feather was bigger than a common bird feather, luscious and black. He recalled Frankie saying his wings were black.

As his hand reached for the present, he brushed the angel's with intention. Leaning in, he closed his eyes, and so did Castiel. Their lips barely touched when a voice separated them.

"Dean? Oh."

Dean froze. It was Kevin. 

"Sorry... Sorry. I, uh, I interrupted you. I'll just leave. I didn't see anything." Kevin quickly said, covering his eyes.  
The boy almost crashed into a wall trying to leave as fast as possible. Dean ran after him, and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Wait. Kev, look." The beginning of an explanation that never came.

"Dean, I don't want to tell you how to live your life or anything, but isn't that, you know... sacrilege?"

"No! What? No... I don't... think so?" _What the hell._ "It's not like that. We didn't even do anything yet."

"It's okay. You don't have to explain me anything. I'm not your mother... Or brother."

"About Sam. I'd really appreciate if you didn't tell him..."

"Tell me what?" Sam came out of nowhere. _Good fucking timing_ , Dean thought. He was wearing that concerned puppy face, pleading both him and Kevin for answers.

"...not that Dean and Castiel are in an amorous relationship." Kevin dropped the bomb and fled.

"Damn it, Kevin!" Dean uselessly yelled after him. He then turned to his little brother and wiggled his eyebrows, laughing. "Kids these days and their crazy imagination, am I right?"

Sam frowned, pursing his lips. He looked over Dean's shoulder - Castiel was standing two feet away, watching them patiently. His face lightened up. Dean didn't understand why.

"Is it true?" He asked on a slightly amused voice.

"No, no." Dean replied.

"Swear on Ozzy."

"Dude, I can't swear on Ozzy."

" _Aha!_ I knew it!"

"Just because Kevin caught us kissing, it doesn't mean we're in a relationship."

"Kevin did what? He didn't mention any kiss."

"...Neither did I."

"Ohoo! He caught you guys kissing! How cute!"

Dean hid his head in his hands. He reached a whole new level of embarrassment. Sam patted him on the back.

"Hey. Whatever floats your boat. Guys or girls. I'll love you anyway. But let's not forget that guy is actually _an angel._ And I don't want you to suffer in the end."

"If this is about what Nadeen said..."

"It's not that. Or it might be. The thing is you fell for him, Dean. Is Cas reprocicating the feeling?"

"Yes, he is." Dean blushed harder. 

"How do you know this isn't because of the spell?"

"Because the spell had already been undone."

"What? When and... how?"

"We didn't just _try_ to undo it. We did it, Sammy."

"And Castiel..."

"Yes."

"He stayed. _With you_. And he killed those angels. _For you_."

"Yeah."

"Wow. Son of a bitch must really love you." The realization came as a whisper. It felt like a million butterflies punching Dean in the stomach.

-

Another angel had fallen in Colorado. They found the crater - a few meters away, wing prints.

"Huh. You can actually see his balls." Dean spoke nonchalantly, leaning against Baby's hood. "Blue balls." He laughed to himself, taking a sip of his beer afterwards.

"This is concerning." Castiel murmured.

"Damn right, it is. I mean, blue balls? Do you think it's because of an unfinished blowjob or the lack of sex in general?"

"I was not talking about that inanimate creature, Dean, I was talking about the falls."

The Denver airport was guarded by a 30-foot-tall sculpture of a horse. A demonic blue mustang whose only purpose was to scare travellers.  
Dean had to see the piece of art so they made a stop on their way to Kansas.

"I thought we agreed there was nothing we can do. Plus, they left us alone. Why stick your neck out and get under their radar again?"

"There is no radar anymore. No radio."

"Cas." Dean called the angel's name on a serious and sincere voice. "For the first time in a long time, I feel happy. And I want to maintain this feeling. I... All I want is to be in your company and have fun. I don't want to be bothered by anything else. So allow me that. Please."

Castiel sighed discreetly and looked away. The signs of an imminent end were everywhere, but he didn't want to upset Dean any further.

"I think it's because of an unfinished blowjob."

Dean spared the horse another glance, looking thoughtful for a moment. He then drank again from his aromatic beer and shrugged. "Yeah." He agreed, handing it to Cas, who declined it by shaking his head. Instead of asking twice, Dean put the seal on his lips with a stolen kiss before taking one last sip and throwing the can into the sky.

-

Kansas City, Missouri - an open prairie with fascinating history and courteous people. Instead of going straight home, Dean stopped by Harvelle's Roadhouse, a saloon owned by The Harvells - old family friends; he and the daughter of the family had been a thing in highschool. It remained just a thing. The problem was that Dean and Jo were too alike for their own good.  
Entering, he was shocked to find wing prints spread on the floor.

"What's up with the redecoration, Ellen?"

"Two dumbasses got into a fight 'few days ago. One of them stabbed the other one with a silver knife and then - bam! He just - exploded. I swear to God."

"I believe you."

"I thought I've seen weird things before, but this... This beats 'em all, son."

"Oh, I bet."

"Who's your friend and what can I get him?" The woman looked at the angel.

"My name is Castiel. I'll take the strongest beverage you have."

"Huh. I like him."


	14. Fine slaughter

Enjoying the angel's company - Dean could not be bothered to do more than that. And, boy, did he enjoy his company?

Castiel was awesome. Sure, he had his quirks and flaws, but Dean was happy he wasn't like one of those angels portrayed in children's books: a sublime baby hopping on clouds and sniffing on wax. He was imperfect, and that only made him more lovable. Actually, scratch that first part. He was kind of a baby sometimes. He was a know-it-all, and he never really listened. Rogue angels had always been rare. Dean was beginning to understand why he ended up as one of them. Behind the carton mask of obedience and nationalism, he ached for rebellion and freedom. The angel was like a vulcano that would have erupted sooner or later.

Castiel was brilliant. Bizarre and challenging, especially intelectually, he cared about a lot of things Dean would not have expected him to. His attentiveness was one of the most endearing things about him. Castiel would sleep, and have breakfast and lunch with Dean, even if he didn't need to perform such activities. He did that as a way to be closer to him. 

-

_"I am so pleased to be with you tonight, and to have the chance to introduce to you our guests, Rowan Falcon, professor of anthropology and religion at Washington University in Saint Louis, and Calvin J. McCoy, freelance supernatural investigator, as he claims. Gentlemen. Divine signs are everywhere. Is the end near?"_

_"Good question, Sully. Well, The Book Of Revelation does not state the exact date of the Apocalypse, but it says we would know when-"_

Dean changed the channel.

_"Meteorites or Fallen angels? Watch an intense debate between science and religion."_

Dean changed the channel.

_"Mass dissapearences AND unexplainable deaths in Long Beach, Savannah and Austin."_

Dean changed the channel.

_"Natural disasters..."_

Dean completely shut down the TV, and threw away the remote. He leaned his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Why couldn't he enjoy a little peace?

"Dean." The man looked down to see Castiel standing in the doorway.

"I think the pizza is ready."

"I'm not hungry." Dean replied lifelessly. Most of their meals consisted of microwaveable food and drinks with high concentration of sodium bicarbonate since neither knew how to cook. That was fine by him. Typically, Dean wouldn't say "no" to pizza, but all his appetite was drown by the bad news. He should not have turned on the TV. Castiel took a seat next to him, and put a palm over his forehead.

"Are you feeling sick?" He asked with a concerned face.

"No." The man shook his head, chuckling. "I'm okay, Cas. I just don't feel like eating."

"You should eat, Dean." The angel's voice was low and intimate. "Your body needs vitamins. A normal daily caloric intake is around 2000, with protein making up 40 percent of-"

"Shut up." Dean laughed and didn't let him finish. He planted his lips in the crook of his neck, making him squirm.

Castiel pushed him away gently. "Why do you always interrupt me when I talk?"

"Because you sound like a reminder app."

"A what?"

"I also get a kick out of seeing you blush when I do so. Red suits you, you know?" Castiel huffed and attempted to leave, but as soon as he got up Dean dragged him back into his arms.

"Nope."

"Are you really going to waste that food?"

"Um, yeah. I'd rather eat you."

His soft breath was once again on Castiel's neck, who didn't push him away this time. He sucked a new violet bruise into his skin. Violet was the shirt under which Castiel's fingers slyly slipped. They rested on Dean's back as the two of them kissed. Then they tickled his sides, giving Castiel the opportunity to run away. Dean was taken aback at first, but he quickly sobered up and chased after the angel, catching him from behind, and spinning him around.

"What an escape plan you pulled there, Blue Eyes." He said between giggles.

They hit the wall. The angel took his breath in exchange of an ardent kiss. His arms were wrapped securely around the man's neck. Dean felt a little more courageous than usual as his hand moved down to Castiel's belt, searching to unbuckle it. After one, maybe two failed attempts, he succeeded.

Cas had gave up on his suit, and his trench coat, and now he mostly walked around in Dean's jeans and worn-out band t-shirts. Dean felt an odd sense of pride.

Dean found his way inside Castiel's (well, his) denim pants, and briefly felt him up through the fabric of his underwear before being pulled out by a gentle hand. Dean panicked a little. _Did he cross any boundaries?_

"Let's lie down." Castiel told him.

"I don't..." Dean stopped in his tracks.

He'd learned that lying down with Cas while having a hard-on was a terrible, terrible idea. Okay, not "terrible", but it definitely wasn't very convenient. How many times did he jack off in the shower just because it didn't felt right to him to level up with Cas? He didn't know why he wavered like that. Maybe it was the fact that Cas had never really showed any kind of interest in sex so he assumed he simply wasn't into that. He seemed content with smaller things, and Dean liked kissing and snuggling just as much. He didn't want to ruin what they had.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Castiel didn't take "no" for an answer. He led him to the bedroom, layed him down on the bed, and climbed on top of him. The position didn't suit Dean so he immediately rolled over, dragging Cas underneath instead. He tensed at the loss of control. 

"Dean, hold on."

"What's wrong?"

Castiel didn't respond - not verbally. He only stared into that pair of green eyes, forgetting perhaps that Dean could not read minds like he did.

"It's alright. We're not doing anything crazy. Just tell me when to stop and I will."

With hesitation, the angel nodded. His palms rested on Dean's shoulders as the man pressed himsef onto him, curious of how far would Castiel go. 

"Spread your legs wider." He said casually, and Castiel allowed him to sit between his thighs. That was nice. The position didn't feel sexual in any way to him, but he could smell arousal on Dean.

"Is this important to you?" Cas inquired, playing with Dean's honey brown hair mindlessly while Dean was busy placing butterfly kisses along his newly uncovered stomach.

"This what?"

"Physical contact."

"I guess. Is it not for you?"

"It feels pleasant. But Dean, the way I love you goes beyond physicality."

Love. The man stopped in his tracks. First Sam and now Castiel himself.

"For someone claiming he'd never been in love, you seem pretty damn sure of yourself when sayin' that."

Dean laughed softly.

-

April 15th.

The end of another cycle was approaching. Sam Winchester was one step away from finishing college, and school altogether at the same time. On April 15th, four days prior to the event, he called his brother to invite him to the graduation ceremony.

"I'd seen you leave kindergarten, graduate middle school, and high school - hell yeah, I'll be there."

"There's also a party afterwards."

Dean groaned through the phone. "One of those formal parties where you wear suit and tie and make awkward small talk with people?"

Sam chuckled. "And shake hands, yeah. You know the kind."

"I can barely contain my enthusiasm."

"Look on the bright side. There's food. And I'd normally add 'cute girls, too. But you're taken, aren't you?"

"Something like that."

"How's Cas, by the way?"

"Good." Dean peeked outside at the angel, who was watering the plants and the flowers in the garden.

"Good." He repeated. "He likes to, um, garden and over-analyze Tom & Jerry. And he always chooses Donkey Kong when we play Mario Kart, can you believe it?"

"Hey, Donkey Kong is a good character."

"Pfff."

"He makes you happy."

Dean groaned even harder than before, distancing himself from the back door.

"Jesus, Sam. Can you not turn this into another Doctor Phill episode?"

"I'm just sayin'."

"Don't -- say."

"Whatever. What have you _personally_ been up to?"

Dean shrugged although he knew Sam wasn't able to see. He was living in his dead parents house, off of inheritance, smooching an angel from time to time.

What has he been up to?  

"Nothing. I'm thinking of re-opening dad's garage."

"Not worth it. If you wanna run a business you have to find a bigger place, preferably somewhere in the middle of the city. That's how you attract more clients."

"Look who's a smartass."

"Someone has to be. Hey, I'm about to head out. I'll call you tomorrow?"

"You do that."

"Say hi to Cas on my behalf."

"As done."

Dean walked out on the back door into the garden, finding Cas trimming his mother's China rose shrub. The poor thing had been long dead when they arrived, but somehow it found revival in his hands.

"Impressive." He said, tracing his fingers with gentleness through Castiel's silky, black strands.

"Anything can grow and bloom if it's taken care of properly."

-

April 19th

Dean had almost forgotten how good Cas looked in formal attire. He honestly looked so fine he couldn't take his eyes off him. Red suited him, but black was his color. It dressed him in elegance and mystery.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, uh. No reason except..." Dean blinked rapidly a few times. "Except that you look great. Black makes your eyes pop out."

Castiel frowned. "My eyes popped out?"

"Nevermind." Dean laughed. "Come here. Lemme give you a hand with that tie."

"We should have a cat." Castiel said out of nowhere, his face cringing childishly. Dean hummed as he worked on his knot. "A cat, huh? Why not a dog?"

"Cats are self-sufficient, cleaner, and they eat less."

"That's just mean to the dogs."

"But it's true."

"Why would you want a pet?" Dean asked as he finished tying his tie. He proceeded to take Castiel's hand and kiss his knuckles, getting a sheepish smile in return.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Touché. Are we done here?"

"My trench coat."

"Okay. Grab your coat and let's go."

-

"That was the most boring thing you've ever put me through, Sammy. And when that girl began crying and made the professors in the back cry too... I almost puked in my mouth."

"Everybody was a bit more emotional than usual today. It's understandable if you think about it."

"Dude. Y'all graduating from college, not mourning a dead aunt."

"We're mourning the death of our youth."

"You're so melodramatic."

"Guess who I got that from."

Dean rolled his eyes, hoping the graduation party would be more entertaining than the graduation ceremony.

-

A party to which your parents and teachers are invited isn't really a party. Your dance moves are being closely judged, you can't get drunk, you can't get laid. You can't do anything. People had been trying to start conversations with Dean the whole night but he'd only continued to stuff his mouth with food to avoid talking.

He lost Castiel to some girls in his way to a punch bowl. He shrugged and let him socialize like he did with Sam. Kevin was hanging out with his mother. He was alone until a young girl wearing a cherry red dress approached him.

"Hi."

"Hi." He replied, not to appear rude.

"Are you Sam Winchester's brother, Dean?"

"Looks like I'm famous here at Standford."

"Oh, no. Not at Standford. In Heaven."

Dean widened his eyes, taking a step back. "What the fuck?"

"No, no!" The girl raised her hands in the air. "I'm not here to harm you, or Castiel."

"Then why are you here? And does Castiel know?"

"He might've sensed my presence, I don't know. He isn't as sharp as he used to be."

"What do you want?"

"I just wished to meet you in person. Everyone is talking, you know? About our baby brother, Castiel, about his rebellion, about his forbidden relationship with you."

"I hope you realize y'all sound like a bunch of fanatic creepers."

The girl's face saddened.

"Dean!" Sam called out. Dean's head turned involuntarily towards the direction where the voice came from. When he turned back to the girl, she had already disappeared.

"Dean, I've been looking for you. I lost you in the crowd."

"You didn't lose me, I left. You were ignoring me."

"Sorry 'bout that. You okay? You're kinda pale."

Dean looked around and wondered how many of those people weren't in fact people. "I'm great." His eyes shifted to Castiel who was now talking to a guy. He squinted at him. He was tall and blond - he looked like a humanoid Ken. Scary. "Who the fuck is that?"

Sam laughed out loud at his reaction. "Oh, that guy? His name's B-something. Blane, or Blake... Yeah, Blake. I've seen him around, never really talked to him."

Dean watched "Blake" gesturing enthusiastically. He was probably trying to tell Castiel a funny story. Jokes on him, Castiel barely found _Dean_ funny.

He laughed. Castiel fucking _laughed_. Dean grimaced. _No, no, no. That's not how it works_ , he thought bitterly. "Is it me or this guy is too touchy?" He asked nobody in particular, really, but Sam answered.

"I think you're just jealous."

"Who's jealous and why?" Kevin showed up.

"Dean right here is jealous on that guy over there."

"Ooh. Blake Sachvosky. Alright."

Dean ignored them altogether and continued to stare. Suddenly, "Blake" put his arm around Castiel's waist and leaned in to whisper something into his ear. He saw Castiel shook his head.

"What are they doin'?" His lower lip quivered a little, his slighty southern accent resonating in the question.

"That. That is what I call flirting." Sam replied, smiling mischievously. Kevin followed along. "Yup. Those are definitely heart eyes he's making at Cas."

Dean raised his eyebrows, looking scandalized. "Hold my punch." He handed Kevin the glass, and started to walk towards Ken and the angel, leaving two laughing boys behind. He went straight to the guy to introduce himself, putting on his best (fake) smile. His arm took its rightful place around Castiel's waist. Blake noticed his possessiveness and laughed. 

"Look, man. We were just talking." He said in a defensive manner, embarrassment creeping up onto his back.

Dean pursed his lips, nodding."Yeah, yeah, I know." He said cynically. "I saw that. What were you guys talking about?"

Cas intervened: "He was telling me about the ionic regulation in marine invertebrates like the cephalopod mollusk and such."

"Fascinating. Tell me more, Blake."

"Uh, I wish I could, man." Blake chuckled awkwardly. "But I really need to spend a penny. The punch, you know how it is."

"Oh, yeah. No worries."

The blond boy fled in a blink of an eye. Dean closed the gap between him and Castiel, asking into his ear: "He wasn't really telling you about mollusks, was he?"

"No." The angel said unaffected. "But your assistance wasn't necessary. I know what loyalty means, Dean."

"Oh, I - I know you know, I just... Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

Castiel said "Okay." softly, and jumped into another topic. "Have you noticed anything unusual?"

"There's an angel roaming this place."

Castiel nodded. "Angels."

"Angels? How many?" Dean blurted.

"More than ten, maybe dozens."

Dozens out of hundreds. The scariest part was that you couldn't tell the difference. Angel or human? You couldn't know for sure unless you were an angel yourself.

"What about the hosts?"  

"There are no hosts inside those bodies."

"So what? They're like you, bits and pieces of more people glued together?"

"No. I think they just killed their hosts."

A shiver ran down Dean's spine. "Are they allowed to do that?"

"Absolutely not."

-

"Oh my God, they're among us. It's coming, I can see it. An angel apocalypse like in Neon Genesis Evangelion." Kevin said, pacing around the room. They had left the party early and returned to the dorm. Having so many angels around made Dean feel... claustrophobic.

"Dude, just chill out for a second." Dean said.

"No, no. You don't understand how bad this is. This is really bad. They're gonna destroy us."

-

Kevin was right. Things went completely nuts after that night.

Angels were no longer citizens in disguise. They sought to erase human kind, slowly bringing Earth under their command.

They would sometimes snap their fingers and call a tornado to do the job, but most of the time they seemed to take pleasure from getting their hands dirty. People ran, and hid, and fought back. But winning against an enemy you knew so little about was impossible.

The U.S government had tried reconciliation. Then they brought out the guns and the tanks. Nothing worked. The motherfuckers' only weakness was the angelic blade.

Dean had the privilege of watching the live fabrication of one. Castiel had procured a syringe and stuck the needle into a specific vein of his neck - a vein that was pumping pure grace. The extracted grace was an endlessly flowing tinted-blue white substance. Castiel had described it as "light", but it was something different than light. A glowing _something_ between liquid and gaseous. He modeled the substance with his hands without ever touching it, giving it the shape of a knife. He made one for Dean, one for Sam, and one for Kevin. Dean figured that if Cas could turn his grace into a knife, he could also turn it into bullets. He handled guns better than blades.

The whole thing left Castiel a bit dizzy. Dean remembered him saying the grace of an angel was "a lot of things". It provided nutrition, it oiled their wings.

It was both their source of power **and** their kryptonite when processed.


	15. Heaven on Earth

Things were completely insane. They couldn't go back. On the news, in the papers, people were advised to stay in the house and avoid travelling unless it was absolutely necessary. Being inside helped no one really. They needed to seal their houses with anti-angel symbols. But, of course, they didn't know that. Anyway, the idea was that they couldn't leave Silicon Valley. Hotels and student dorms - public institutions - had to accommodate anyone who wasn't local.

"What a shitty bitch of a situation." Dean complained. He felt like a refugee sleeping on Sam and Kevin's floor. Motels and hotels were already full by the time he tried to book a room.

"At least you don't have to pay anything."

"Shut up, Sam."

"Dean, you know I could teleport us back home." Cas offered.

"Can you teleport Baby too?"

"No, but-"

"Then no."

"Jeez, it's just a car." Sam laughed, rolling his eyes. Truth was, he said that just to annoy Dean. Of course Baby _wasn't_ just a car. She was a friend, a family member. In fact, she'd become a Winchester before them.

"How dare you?"

"Hey, guys." Kevin called for everyone's attention.

"How long do you think we have to stay here?"

"Forever." Dean answered grumpily. It was ironic. Kevin and Sam had just graduated but instead of going home, they were still stuck on their university's campus for who knew how much longer.

 _Attention please._ A voice spoke through the radio speakers planted all over the campus. _Every student and guest is asked to wait patiently in their assigned rooms. An official team will soon stop by and check on you. I repeat, do not leave your room. It's for your own safety. Thank you._

"'Official team' my ass!" Dean grabbed a notebook and threw it into the speaker. "First she tells us not to leave the building, and now we can't even leave the room?"

"They're gonna kill us."

"Kevin, what the hell?"

"That's how it happens. They're looking for the weak chain because they only need people who are physically qualified. The rest are just a waste of space and food... Oh, God. I am the weak chain in this link. They're coming after me."

"Buddy, calm down. Nobody is coming after you."

"Let's be serious, Dean. I'm not cut out to be a soldier."

The door suddenly flew open. One of Sam and Kevin's professors, accompanied by two guys who looked like federal agents and a nurse entered and began asking questions. Name, age, birth place, occupation - general questions. The nurse took their temperature and some blood from each of them without explaining why. Kevin concluded that they were probably working on an angel capcha - something to betray an angel's nature. In the end "the official team" asked them if they needed anything, from clothes to food or medicine. Dean hurriedly answered "no" for all of them and locked the door.

-

Nine days in, Dean got bored. There was no turbulence outside, but they still weren't allowed to leave. A couple of men (wearing military outfits this time) were assigned to deliver supplies to the people.

Thankfully, Sam and Kevin's room was spacious. It had a tiny bathroom and a mini kitchen that was separated from rest of the room by a weird-angled wall. Sleeping bags were stupid. And the fact that he couldn't kiss Cas at any time given was stupid, too. Cas was quiet hours at the time. Dean didn't dare to ask him what was on his mind.

One night he decided to just leave. They couldn't keep him there. There had been no angel attacks nearby so he assumed there had been no attacks at all. He had no reason to stay.

"I'm getting out of here." He said flatly.

"You shouldn't do that." Kevin shook his head vigorously. "The army men are guarding the doors. Every door."

"Okay then. Cas, zap us to Baby and let's go."

"Dean." Sam intervened. "Don't push it. You might think you're safe because you got Cas on your side. But Cas is an only angel against how many other angels? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands?"

"I don't need your logic right now, Sammy."

"Cas, don't."

"Cas." Dean looked at the angel with a _are you really going to listen to Sam, and not me?_ look. Castiel rolled his eyes discreetly and zapped the four of them inside the Impala.

"Holy shit! You could've at least let me grab my phone charger!" Kevin cried. He was in the back with Sam. "How am I going to text mom back every five minutes to assure her I'm fine?" He added with both irony and fear in his voice.

"We'll drop you at her hotel. Do you know the address?"

Kevin's mother had left the graduation party early to go back to the hotel. And she remained there, against her will. She almost broke a guy's face in an attempt to get out, and get to her son. 

Her hotel was somewhere near the exit of Silicon Valley. The farther they drove, the scarier the city looked. Blood, broken glass, broken pavement - typical violence signs. Plus the wing prints, which added a little bit of spice and hopelessness. The streets were empty because everyone was inside now. _Shit._ Everyone was inside. Angels had to be amongst those people.

"We should stay away from the hotel." Dean said.

"Hm?" Someone in the car responded.

"We should stay away from hotels, from crowds. People. We must find a place to seal it. And stay there." It finally hit him. There was no end to that. The earth they were walking on no longer belonged to them.


	16. Kill your darlings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Returning to the chapter one's timeline.

Cole O'Connor Stadium, June 11th, 2018.

"How's our little ray of sunshine?" Meg burst into the infirmary, swaying. She was in a good mood.

"I'm great. How are you, my beautiful?" Chuck replied, grinning. Chuck was a guy around 30, who didn't do much beside writing and hanging out with Meg and Castiel. Sometimes he would exchange ideas with his fellow writer, Frankie. He was bad with guns, bad with knives, bad with women, a bad organizer (very messy person), bad everything. But he was nice. Still, Dean did not trust him very much.

"That's cute." The girl said, her voice bored. "But I was talking to Castiel."

The angel shrugged.

"What? Cat got your tongue? Or maybe Dean's done something again..." She gasped with enthusiasm. "Do you want me to beat him up for you? 'Cause I could. It'd be my pleasure."

"Thank you for the kind offer, Meg, but I have already said 'no' the first twenty two times you have asked."

"Doesn't kill to ask again. How's Jesse? Word says he broke his hand - the second one."

"He's in mild pain, but his spirit is down. And Dean specifically asked me not to heal him so I preserve my grace... 'fuel' for 'more important things'."

"Ah - there's the issue. Dean's an asshole, how come you aren't used to that yet?"

"A kid in pain is important." Chuck commented absentmindedly.

"Tell him that." Meg snorted.

"And have my head cut off? No thanks. I need the face -- for the ladies."

"Whatever, Shurley. I'm gonna check on the kid and see what I can do."

_Mic check 1, 2... 1...? This thing work or...? Oh yeah! Howdy. Citizens of Fuckville... get it? 'cuz we all fucked._

All residents of the stadium stopped in their tracks to listen to the voice coming from the speakers, including Cas, Meg and Chuck.

_Mic check 1, 2... 1...? This thing work or...? Oh yeah! Howdy. Citizens of Fuckville... get it? 'cuz we all fucked._

"Is that Ash?" Frankie raised her head from the book she was reading to exchange glances with her girlfriend.

"Yes." Charlie said firmly. "I love Ash."

_Mic check 1, 2... 1...? This thing work or...? Oh yeah! Howdy. Citizens of Fuckville... get it? 'cuz we all fucked. "_

"Here we go again." Jody sighed.

"You should arrest him." Claire said, reaching for another strawberry from the bowl Jody had in her lap.

"And take him where? We don't have a jail."

"We should have one."

_Ain't a beautiful day ou'side? I wouldn't kno'! All I can see is this damn boring, grey, very boring ceiling, motherducking giant walls, green grass that's green... in the summer! winter! autumn! I don't know 'bout you fellas but I, myself, am really drunk. Cut. Shit. I meant t'say depressed, not drunk. Drunk is... Something I am, sure, but I am moooore that, you know what I'm sayin'? Am a human bein' and I got rights..._

"Where's Dean when you need him?" Meg groaned, checking a patient's temperature.

_I remember my time as a develpe... developer. Who's gon' play my freakin' games now if I make 'em? What kind of world is this...? We need to say no. No! Oppose the oppressors! Live long and... I forgot what I was going to... Anyways, my little duckies. Be the force with you and... Amen. Oops. This ain't the term anymore, is it...?_

"Ash, get out." There he was.

_Oooh. Our hip leader, Dean Win, is here._

"Ash, step away from the mic."

_Ladies and girls, our cult leader wants me to-_

"He said to step away from the mic."

Jo lost her patience and grabbed Ash's shirt, pinning him down against the control panel, both arms behind his back. You know the way.

"Sorry. Ouch. You're breaking somethin', I can feel it."

Dean turned off the speakers and sighed. "I'm pretty sure I told you not to come here anymore. Why are you doing this? "

"Guilty pleasure?" Ash shrugged with the little mobility he had.

"Your guilty pleasure is to get on my nerves." Dean said flatly.

"No, man. This room's my guilty pleasure. I feel like God. Look! Look on the door, man. It says 'Control Room. Broadcasting Center'. Uuu-huhuhu! Control..."

"Are you done?"

"All I'm sayin' is let's make this room our studio. Let me be the DJ, pleeeaase..."

"In your sweetest dreams."

-

"You're a dumbass." Ellen slapped Ash's head with a towel. She proceeded to unpack the supplies from the last run Jo's team had been on. Ellen Harvelle had one simple job: portion control - take over the supplies, make packages for everyone at their camp, making sure everyone gets an even number of necessities, share them. Except it wasn't that simple.

"You want to get kicked out of here?"

"Comon, mom. Dean wouldn't kick Ash out." Jo said.

"I wouldn't be so sure. That boy's changed. He's changed a lot. You think he'd spare any of us three just 'cause we're family friends? I don't think he gives a damn about that anymore."

"How could you say that?"

"Have you seen him lately? He's been keeping everyone at arm's length. You keep people at arm's length when you don't want to have anything personal to do with them. When you don't want to feel remorse after you kick them out."

"Dean wouldn't resort to such extreme measures like throwing people out of the camp."

"You say that now."

"Okay, fine. He wants to be impartial - that's not a bad thing. All we have to do is stay out trouble."

"Then stay out of trouble. When I'm saying that I'm talking to you Ash."

Now, Ellen knew Ash didn't get into trouble unless he was drunk - or high. Sadly, that happened often.

"Got it, auntie."

-

"We're running low on resources. We've scavenged everything there was to scavenge in this neighborhood." Vince said during one of Dean's "general meetings". Vince was the most vocal member of Jo's crew of gatherers. He was closely followed by Annie. The other two, Colbert and Dustin, complemented them with their silence.

"Then we move to the next one." Benny replied.

"And after we have finished the resources in that neighborhood, what?"

Benny shrugged. "Next one."

"We keep driving farther and farther for supplies. It'll just get harder and harder to transport them. Think about the gas, we'll need more of it. Think about the danger. The farther we go, the more time we spend outside the stadium. The more time we spend outside, the higher are the chances to get killed."

"And what are you proposing, kid? Do you wanna stop going on runs altogether? Wanna let these people starve? Wanna starve yourself?"

"Maybe we could move our location." Irv offered.

"Are you stupid?!" Annie got up from the chair, pounding her fists on the table. "How can you expect to move sixty people to a new location?"

"Hey, hey. No need to get angry." Jody intervened. Jody Mills was part of Sam's team alongside Charlie, Irv and Lee. "Annie's right. Plus, this stadium is great - spacious, multifunctional. How about we make the portions smaller. We eat less, but longer."

"Goin' back to starving people, eh?" Benny rolled his eyes.

"No, it's called economy."

"It's not the food that should be handled differently." Vince spoke again. "It doesn't matter if we give people smaller packages. We should have less people."

Dean frowned, like everyone else on the terrace did.

"We won't get rid of people." Sam said firmly."

"I'm just saying that maybe we shouldn't save every person we encounter."

"But our mission is to save people. Tell him, Dean."

Dean didn't respond right away. He took his sweet time to think the situation through while the people around him were boiling with anticipation. Sam was surprised by his hesitation. Their mission was to save those out there who were still alive, to bring them to the camp, give them food and shelter. Dean should've known that. He _knew_ , yet he still hesitated.

"We'll stick to the routine." Dean's word was law at the camp. It didn't matter if some folks sympathized with his idea and some didn't, they all respected it in the end.

Later that evening Dean found himself on a highest row of the bleachers, his favorite spot. It was Castiel's favorite spot too, but they were never there at the same time. That altitude provided the best view. The world looked smaller. The world was smaller. Humanity was crumpled inside those walls. His eyes caught Castiel sitting on the opposite side of the stadium at the foot of the bleachers, surrounded by children. They were looking up at him, focused on whatever story the angel was telling. The sight had taken him by surprise the first time. Now he was used to it.

It's funny. Sometimes what people tend to see is completely different from what it is.

For example, everyone at the camp thought they were fucking when they didn't even speak. They had stopped speaking to each other a long time ago. Nothing had happened, there had been no great fallout, no heartbreak - although Dean sometimes wished it had been. He didn't have anything to heal from because Castiel had not hurt him in any way. Dean wished he had so he could hate him. But no. They'd simply grown apart. It was Dean's fault, and Castiel's amenability. It had been Dean's choice to close his heart and turn away without an explanation. One day he'd suddenly realized he couldn't let himself distracted by puerile things. So they'd grown apart and become strangers again. Did he still love Cas? He preferred not to think about that. And of course, everyone had reasons to be confused by their relationship when he, himself, didn't know to define it. He had never known. They were ex-lovers who'd never broke up officially. Lovers who'd never made it officially. Best friends of some sort, kindred spirits at the best. Family, unrelated. Different and alike. Divided, but always in each other's minds.


	17. Nutmeg

"There you go." Meg said once she was done with extracting grace. Cas was able to do it himself, but she would always insist it was easier to have someone else do it for you. She held the syringe up and stared at it for a moment. A syringe of grace equaled about six bullets. Six bullets for three teams of five members - that would be ninety bullets, more or less, depending on how many bullets each of them wasted on a supply run. Ninety bullets meant fifteen syringes of grace and fifty-nine minutes of shaping them. Shaping the grace into bullets did not only require time, but grace too - the quantity of a syringe. So sixteen. Castiel periodically gave up on sixteen syringes of grace. That was like ten gallons of blood for a human. Fortunately he was not human.

He had calculated the extract maximum amount of grace he was able to extrace without burning out completely - twenty-two syringes. He'd never had to give up that much, but he was positive of the fact that, that was the quantity able to kill him. At sixteen he just felt very weak. It left him disoriented, deprived of nutrients, sometimes unable to stand. At least he was helping, and that thought soothed him. And Meg took good care of him so he was grateful. She would bring him food and talk to him as a way to keep him busy. Meg wasn't the sweetest cherry in the three, she had a rather sour skin, that was true. But she had only been nice to him; she cared about him in her own unobtrusive way. Castiel could not understand Dean's antipathy towards her. The angel solemnly thought the root of it was in fact a childish jealousy.

"Let's grab something to eat. You can finish these later."

Human food was tasteless and unsatisfactory, but better than nothing. It put him back on feet.

"How are you feeling?" Meg asked between bites. They were eating corn. She liked to sprinkle salt on it; to him, it didn't make a difference.

"Like I've been running a marathon. My... body is aching all over, and my eyes are burning slightly."

"So the usual. To be honest, I was talking about your pretty little heart."

"What do you mean?"

"Still mad at your boyfriend for not letting you heal Jesse and, well, being a controlling jerk in general?"

"Dean is not my boyfriend. He has no control over me either." That was a lie. Dean's hold on Castiel was so strong it overwhelmed him at times. There was little he wouldn't do for him. Castiel had strayed for him, killed for him, stayed for him only, and Dean didn't even have to ask him to.

"Speaking of the devil." Meg nudged his side, determining him to look up. Dean was walking towards them unhurried. His head suddenly became dull with pain. A headache - Dean's presence had sadly transformed into a headache. Why? He was no longer approaching Castiel with any intentions other than business. Dean no longer remembered how to be affectionate and talk softly to him. It was definitely interesting to realize that, despite the blue and the stir the man had poured into his heart, despite his discourtesy and sharpened sharp edges, Castiel still cared about him.

"I need to have a word with you." Dean said flatly.

"Oh. Hi to you, too, Dean. How about you let Cas eat in peace and come back later?" Meg didn't make any effort to hide the annoyance she felt. Dean replied in the same manner.

"How about you talk when talked to?"

"Some leader you are. Not letting your people speak freely."

"A slut's opinion has no value to me."

"You piece of shit." Meg stood up, imposing. Being a strong person in every sense, the height difference between her and Dean didn't scare her. She looked him dead in the eye, daunting, and when Dean only clenched his fist tighter, showing no signs of withdrawal, Castiel got between them.

"It's okay, Meg." He gripped her shoulder gently, pulling her back. He then followed Dean a few metres away from her, almost bumping into his back when he suddenly stopped to turn around.

"That was mean." The angel scowled. That was plain mean. Dean probably didn't even mean it, he just looked for a way to offend Meg. That was childish.

"What are you still doing with her?" Dean asked. There it was. The childishness in his voice, the dumbness of the question.

Castiel frowned, explaining: "I am entitled to spend time with whoever I want to."

"I told you-" Dean paused mid-sentence, and then: "You know what? Nevermind. Your life, I don't care."

"What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

Dean cleared his throat and said: "You can seal buildings, you can seal cars... But I was wondering. Can you seal a person? Is there a coding for that? A spell, anything?"

"There was one but..."

"But what?"

"I forgot it." Cas admitted embarrassed.

"Great." Dean sighed, running a hand through his honey brown hair. Cas watched the gesture with nostalgic eyes, bowing his head in the end.

"Just great." Dean added.

"From what I remember, it had to be placed on the ribs, and it only concealed you from angels. It didn't protect you against them like, perhaps, a scout. Like it does to a car. Or a building if you must."

"For concealment I'm searching."

"I'm awfully sorry, Dean."

"No, it's fine." Castiel made a little pause before speaking again. "You know, angels hear your thoughts. That's how they find you. If you somehow found a way to mute your mind, then you would be hidden."

"I don't think that's humanly possible, but thanks for the tip." Dean turned his head to look in the distance. People were busy staying busy. They all looked like working bees. He spotted Sam, who raised two fingers in order to wave at him. He didn't wave back, he just nodded. Sam got the idea and gave him thumbs up. He immediately returned to his previous activity.

"What's wrong?" The angel asked him carefully.

"Nothing."

Castiel huffed. "Of course, nothing. It's always nothing, isn't it?"

Dean could hear the bitter sarcasm in his voice. The man simply ignored it, avoiding eye contact. "I gotta go." He said. And Castiel watched him go.

-

"So what did Cas say?" Sam asked him later that evening. Dean, Sam, and other older residents, had claimed the locker rooms and some other idle rooms as their own when they moved in, turning them into real bedrooms over time. Dean had brought two sofas from one of the terraces, building a double bed out of them. No, Sam didn't sleep in the same room as him. He had imagined Dean would like a little privacy with Cas so he'd given it to them. To his surprise, the angel and his big brother had settled in different locations of the stadium. Only a lonely radio kept Dean company now.

"Not much." Dean shrugged, tossing his jacket on a chair. He proceeded to take off his boots.

"He can't help us, huh?"

"Apparently not."

"Hm... Did you guys talk about anything else?"

"Don't."

"I'm just asking, I don't mean to pry. I'm just, you know. Worried."

"About who?"

"You. Him. Both."

"I'm fine. He's fine. We're both so damn fine."

"If you say so."

"Believe me, Sammy. Now, if you don't mind... I could really use a nap."

"Too bad. I was hoping you could join the game."

"What game?" Dean frowned deeply.

Sam laughed at his reaction. "Look around, dude. We're living on a stadium and we've never played football."

"Myeah, not interested. Have fun though."

"Man, I swear you're turning into the grumpy old man next door."

"Too bad we have no neighbors. It's just us here, Sam." Dean's tone screamed "irritated".

"It was a metaphor."

"I know."

"Alright, alright. I'm going."

-

"So Dean's not coming. I see." Charlie said, dissapointed. "He doesn't love us anymore."

"Hey, it's not that." Sam tried to make it better. "He was too tired, that's all."

"Oh, no, no. I get it, Sam. Really. It's... whatever."

"Who's keeping the score?" Frankie asked.

"I am!" Kevin offered, raising a hand as Chuck, Castiel and Meg reached his side.

"Meg, you in?" Charlie spoke again.

"And sweat like a pig? Thanks. But no, thanks, Carrottop. I'll be cheering from the side."

"Aw, too bad. The Carmine Firebirds is lacking a member."

"The what?" Meg raised an eyebrow.

"That's the name Charlie had chosen for her team." Kevin explained.

"Oookay. I'm officially outta here." As Meg turned away to head for the bleachers, Charlie's attention shifted to her two companions.

"Cas. Chuck. You said you would play for my team, right?"

Chuck nodded while the angel looked around, uncertain. "I don't know the rules." He said timidly. The red haired girl circled his neck with her arm, throwing him off balance. "No biggie! I'll give you a quick lesson. We're actually playing soccer, not football. I mean, it's football, but we don't play it like this, usually. American football is a bit different. So, um, anyway. You have two teams: ours, The Carmine Firebirds, versus Sam's, The Blueblood Hellcats. Now, there are more... positions. Striker, defender, middlefielder, the keeper. Which one sounds most appealing to you?"

"Striker?"

"Good! You'll be one of the strikers, then. Keep your eyes on the ball, keep it inside those white lines, don't touch it with your hands. Your job is to send it into their post. Don't push other players. Got it?"

"I suppose."

"So now that our little angel friend knows the basics we can began, right?" Benny said.

"Wait, nooo! You're eleven, we're still ten." Charlie pouted. Benny's mouth formed an "oh". Sam mimicked the gesture. The man looked towards the bleachers. People were fixed in their seats, snacking and watching them closely. The atmosphere was close to the atmosphere of a real football match. A grin appeared on his face when he spotted Jody.

"How about Jody?"

Jody heard him and reacted: "Hell no! You forget I'm not as young as I look, Sam."

Too late. Everybody on the field began applauding and chanting: "Jody! Jody! Jody!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

-

Dean tried to sleep. He gave his best. But it was impossible to do so with all that agitation. People were chanting outside, yelling "goal" whenever someone scored. It pissed him off. He wasn't sure what pissed him off more: the fact that he couldn't close an eye or the fact that everyone else was having fun when he was locked up inside like a child who had been grounded. Maybe Sam was right, he was turning into a bitter little thing.

He tossed the covers aside and put his shoes on. The noise was white, the reflectors were on. They temporarily blinded him when he stepped outside. Dean came out just in time to see Castiel score. He snorted - he didn't think the angel would be a good player. Then again, football was a bit like war, where strategy and coordination served as keys to success. And Castiel was a warrior.

He walked up to Kevin, asking him how was it going. "It's five for Charlie's Firebirds.". Kevin answered absentmindedly. He didn't have the priviledge to pay much attention to Dean's presence since he was concentrating on the game. Dean nodded and followed his gaze. The ball rolled from Lee to Victor. Sliding through a few men, Claire managed to steal it ( _Ah!_ The advantages of being petite). She scored, sending everyone into another round of applause. When she flipped her long blonde hair cockily, Dean chuckled.

"Six to four!" Kevin announced. Suddenly, Ash hit the ground, squirming and groaning. At first, Kevin thought that maybe he'd missed a fault, but then he heared the young man shout: "Cramps! Holy cow, cramps! It hurts like a bitch!" Kevin whistled for him to take a seat, and then he turned to Dean telling him they needed another player. Dean shook his head vehemently.

"I'm here to watch, I don't wanna participate. Sorry."

Kevin grimaced, grabbed him, and pushed him foward. "Get out there, Jesus fuckin... !" It amused Dean because, despite the passion and the urgency in his black eyes, his push was pretty damn weak.

"Okay, okay." He quickly told the boy, his legs already moving. Him entering the gridiron attracted surprised looks, Castiel's beating them all. He ignored it as the game resumed. A few minutes in, Dean found himself fighting over the black and white ball with him. Sweat was starting to form at the top of his forehead, right where the skin met the hair. Their eyes were preying on each other's moves, blocking advancement. Castiel rolled the ball under his sole teasingly, inviting Dean to take it, and the man flinched, almost biting the bait. The angel tried that scheme again, succeeding in moving the sphere past Dean this time, and Dean liked to think he was in fact the one who'd let that happen.

The man followed Castiel, and twirling around him, he stole the ball. Dean could see that Castiel didn't expect him to. He attempted to take it back from him, but he only managed to entertain Dean in the process, with his... frowning face, jolted breathing, and semi-desperate gambols.

Their bodies danced around each other, doing pirouettes without ever touching. The little tango ended with Castiel scoring again. Or Dean letting him score, as he liked to put it in his mind. The game ended there, with Charlie's Carmine Firebirds as the winners, and Sam's Blueblood Hellcats as the losers.

Despite having been keeper for the opposite team, Benny approached Castiel and shook his hand to congratulate him. "Good job, little fella. You kicked our asses. You ain't as prissy as I thought." He also patted Dean on the back, telling him "You did good.", and whispering into his ear. "You should be proud of him."

Dean rolled his eyes, still panting. Castiel wasn't his to be proud of. But he still felt a little prideful looking at him, seeing how the players of both teams were showering him with compliments. People dissipated, and Dean remained alone with Castiel in the middle of the field. As soon as they locked gazes, he bowed out.


	18. Playing Cupid for the stupid

Dean was at the top again, Castiel at the bottom. He alone, Castiel surrounded by children. Dean wondered if Castiel knew he was watching. He wondered what in the world was he telling those kids. What stories? What fables? He was too far to hear, too stubborn to ask. His audience had to be between seven and twelve years old, but sometimes Claire would pass by, too. She would blend in with those kids, and listen to the blue-eyed angel with just as much interest. Maybe Dean could ask her. Yeah, he could do that.

-

"Oh, you know. Stories." Claire answered once he asked, one day when they were cleaning their guns.

"About?"

"Mythology. Fairies and stuff."

"Fairies." Dean deadpanned.

She shrugged, laughing. At Dean's stupidity, probably. "Yeah. What? Did you think he told war stories to those kids?"

"And you join them to listen to stories with _fairies_. And ogres." Dean said, trying to understand.

"He makes them interesting." The blonde girl shrugged again. "Through the way he tells them. It's comforting. Reminds me of when I was little, and my father used to read to me before bed. His voice is... I don't know. Soothing." It would have not surprised Dean if Cas actually had Claire's old man's vocal chords. "If you're that curious, why don't you come sometime?"

"I'd rather not."

"Why? Because you're afraid of what he'd say?"

"No."

"He wouldn't chase you away. If anything, he'd actually be glad you came. He misses you. You miss him too, don't you?"

Dean cocked his head and muttered "what the fuck" under his breath before answering. "We see each other everyday."

"But you don't interact. It's not the same."

"I'll call you when I need a specialist in relationships, thanks."

"He told me that."

Dean stiffened. "He told you what?"

"That he misses you. It wasn't a deduction." Claire clarified. She liked Dean. She saw a role model in him. Claire also liked Castiel because he was easy to make fun of, and because he resembled her father in an unknown way. The girl genuinely wanted them to be okay, to go back to whatever they were in the beginning. She'd known them before the stadium - they met on the way - so she had the opportunity to see another side of their relationship.

"Listen. Don't get involved in adults' errands, okay?" Dean told her as a conclusion, getting an eye roll back.

"Don't talk to me like I still drink milk from my mamma and swim in diapers."

"You're 17. To me, that's a diaper-worth age."

"Whatever, grandpa."

-

Claire Novak needed an accomplice - someone whom she could trust, someone who dared to cross boundaries, someone who had the same mindset as she had. She made a little list of possible people, and ended up striking all of the names.

_~~Sam?~~ Nah, he seems to have given up already. _

_~~Jo?~~ She isn't... dedicated enough to the cause. _

_~~Benny?~~ Comon, Claire. He wouldn't get involved in those kind of things._

_~~Kevin?~~ No, I've never really talked to him so it'd be weird asking for his help._

_~~Jody?~~ Too busy smooching Victor. _

_~~Meg?~~ Nope. She likes Castiel, but she despises Dean. _

_~~Chuck?~~ Same as Meg and Jo, I guess? And, uh, Kevin. _

Then she heared Charlie's voice in the distance and she gasped. "Charlie!" _Charlie? Loves Cas, still loves Dean. Super nice and she probably ships them. Charlie._

-

As expected, Charlie turned out to be the best ally ever.

First things first, the location: they chose terrace number two since it was smaller and more private, and the residents rarely dropped by. There used to be five sofas; only one remained in its original spot. The bar still had unopened bottles, and the lights of the bar still worked their magic, changing colors like Christmas installations - all it took was a press on the button of a remote control.

They lit up candles - perfumed candles - and pulled out two glasses, filling them with some white wine they'd found. They cleaned the dusty table, two dusty chair, arranging them so that Dean and Castiel would sit face to face. Most movies used rose petals - too bad they didn't have roses. But, they were inventive enough to have them replaced with pillow feathers soaked in red paint. Those kinda looked like petals - if you closed an eye.

"Voilá!" Charlie uncovered the meal they had Frankie cook. Omelette with bacon and cheese for a romantic dinner? Well, they had to work with what they had. It smelled good, Charlie had trust in Frankie's culinary skills so it probably tasted good, too.

Setting everything up was easy. The hard part was coming up with a diversion, a lie. They had make Castiel and Dean meet each other there. The girls played "Rock, paper, scissors"; the loser had to go to Dean, the winner got Castiel.

Charlie ended up being the loser. She put her charms on and left. Claire did the same. Claire went straight to the infirmary, knowing Castiel must be there.

There he was, trying to help Meg with some naughty kid who simply refused to take his medicine.

"Listen, snotty pudding. If you don't wanna take the pill that's fine by me. Antibiotics are not easy to find these days anyway."

Castiel replied to Meg with a sharp glance. She was unphazed. "I've been kissing his ass for half an hour. Look at him, now he's turned into a human burrito. He's unsavable."

Claire noticed the kid was buried in blankets, rolling in his bed. He really did look like a burrito, she realized with amusement.

"Noah." Castiel tried again.

Claire suddenly remembered her true mission. "Hey guys." She greeted both the angel and the nurse, who turned their heads to her, finally acknowledging her presence.

"Blondie." Meg greeted back quickly before attempting to peel Noah's cocoon of blankets off.

"Hello, Claire." Castiel said with more hoarseness than usual. Strangely, his whole attention shifted to her - he must have sensed that Claire was there for him, somehow. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah."

"Then I must say I am a bit too preoccupied at the moment to converse casually, Claire, so..."

 _Lie, lie, lie._ "Actually no! Everything's not alright!"

"Oh. What's the matter?"

"I keep... having these... uh... nightmares."

"Nightmares." Castiel repeated, frowning skeptically.

"Yeah... I - there's monsters. And they're coming after me. I, uh, never escape. In my dreams. Nightmares. They always catch me." Claire could see it. With every word that rolled off her tongue, the angel seemed more and more skeptical, a bit amused even, like he knew she was lying. She had to do something so she forced a tear and turned her most whiny mode on, finding the most pathetic voice inside of her. Castiel didn't react much, but his eyes were suddenly more sympathetic.

"Castiel, it's terrible. I'm so scared. I can't sleep. I can't go to sleep because each time I do, I have to relive those scenes." She rubbed her eyes like a kid, highfive-ing herself in her mind for the A+ acting performance. "And I... I thought that maybe you could help."

"What would you have me do, Claire?"

"I just wanted you to tell me a bedtime story, but if you're too busy here..."

"You... want me to tell you a bedtime story?" Castiel asked, dumbfounded.

"Can you do that?"

"I suppose I can."

"Great! Meet me at the small terrace in ten minutes."

"But I could go with you to your room right now to-"

"No! Just meet me there in ten. I mean, uh, finish here first, help Meg with Noah, and then meet me there. Ten minutes. Don't forget."

Mission accomplished on Claire's side. It was up to Charlie now.

-

Charlie knocked on the door, getting a yell back: "I'm busy!"

"...Dean?" She asked tentatively. "It's me, Charlie."

After a moment of complete silence, Dean's voice was heard again, muffled by the metallic door that kept them apart. "I'm not in the mood for chit chat, Charlie."

Another moment of insufferable silence. The girl lingered by the door, spooning her own brain for something.

"Do you masturbate with the same hand you write? 'Cause I don't." There it was - the best thing she could find. Fortunately, for some reason, it worked. It made Dean get up and open the door to look at her. The redhead smiled up at him charmingly.

"What do you want?"

"Look. If you were jerking off in there and I interrupted, sorry. I could wait a few more minutes till you-"

"Jesus, Charlie! I wasn't. I - _What do you want?_ "

"I... just wanted you to know that I love you." _Comon, Celeste. You've lied your way through decades of your life. You can do better than that._

"I knew that. Anything else?"

"It's, uh, it's Claire." Dean raised an eyebrow.

"What about her?" "She broke her leg. And I can't move her. She might look thin, but she's heavy as a truck."

"Are you fucking kidding me? How did that happen?" The man was irked. He had fair reasons to be since Claire was his best shooter and his protegee. The price of a broken leg was her absence from the next few supply runs, which sucked.

"She climbed onto a high chair to reach for something and fell. Yeah, that's how it happened."

"Where is she?"

"The small terrace. Kinda far for her to skip all the way to the infirmary on one leg, don't you think?"

"Yeah, well, give me a second and I'll come give her a piggyback ride or something."

"Ah, cool! Don't forget: the small terrace. The one in the north stand. You should see her lying there. I mean, she isn't lying." Charlie let out an awkward laugh. "I helped her up, of course. Sitting. You should see her sitting there."

"Wait. Aren't you tagging along?"

"No... 'Cause... I need to pee. But I'll catch up with you."

-

With Dean walking all the way there, and Castiel zapping there after exactly ten minutes on the clock, their synchronization was on point. Well, not _perfectly_ on point. The man got there about a minute later, but that gave Castiel time to scan his new surroundings.

He squinted at the food, at the candles, his fingers tracing the edge of the table with delicacy. His face was hard to read. Claire and Charlie were hidden behind a corner, peeking. They were giggling inaudibly, watching the whole scene like a movie.

When Dean showed up, he instantly locked gazes with Castiel. "What's this supposed to mean?" He asked with obvious panic in his voice the moment he became conscious of the situation.

The angel shrugged a little. "According to common sense, this could be considered the proper environment for the occurrence of a dinner with romantic connotations."

"I didn't do this." Dean said defensively.

"I know. Not for a moment did I think you were capable of it."

"Whoa, _wow_!" Dean made a face, taking offense. "Capable?" He basically snorted the word. "Capable. You think I'm not capable of preparing a dinner date."

The angel shook his head disapprovingly. "I'm not judging your ability to sustain your intimate relationships, Dean. Perhaps I've chosen my words wrong. What I really meant to say was that I didn't think you were responsible for this. After all, you have never done anything like this for me before so why would you start now? Illogical."

That hurt. For some reason that hurt Dean like a million knives piercing his stomach. He cleared his throat, trying to flush away the feelings of discomfort and guilt. "What're you doing here anyway?"

"I'm meeting Claire." Castiel appeared to be plain bored. Like the whole set up didn't affect him in any way. Like he couldn't understand Dean's exaggerated reaction to it.

"Uh, no. I'm here to meet Claire. To take her to the infirmary." The man explained. Castiel just stared at him like he was an idiot or something like that.

"Why would you need to take Claire to the infirmary? She was there a few minutes ago."

Dean laughed. "No, can't be - because Claire has a broken leg, alright? And she couldn't possibly go there by herself."

"Broken leg? Who told you that?"

"Charlie."

"Well, I talked to Claire herself, and she was fine."

There was a moment of silence between them, and Dean was slowly beginning to understand what was going on. "Son of a bitch. They fooled us."

Claire and Charlie exchanged satisfied glances. But their satisfaction was short-lived. "You can come out now!" The girls heard Dean shout. His call made them freeze on the spot. "Shit." Charlie was the first one to say something. Claire only stared at her, eyes wide.

"Should we go out or pretend we're not here? Or play dead?"

The blonde girl shook her head.

"What the fudge does that mean?"

"I know you're somewhere here, alright?" Dean shouted again, so they ultimately decided to face him.

"Heeey, Dean." Charlie waved weakly at him. The man refrained from blinking, his sight burning like a laser. "Oh, God. You're angry."

"You think?" Dean spitted back at her. His jaw tensed up. Castiel remained a quiet witness to their conversation.

"We just wanted to help you guys... solve your issues." Charlie justified themselves.

"Charlie, are you listening to yourself?" Dean was starting to sound like a pissed dad more than anything else. She and Claire were the children who'd failed in trying to get their parents back together.

"Yes, sir!"

"What issues now?"

"Don't pretend you and Cas don't have any."

"Whatever there is between me and Castiel doesn't - shouldn't concern you. What the hell were you thinking about? Did you live under the impression that I'd have dinner with him and live happily ever after... after you would've tricked me into it?"

"It was my idea." Claire admitted. Dean shot her a murderous look.

"I've expected more from you, Claire. From you, too, Charlie."

"But Dean-" Charlie tried to stop the man from leaving. Another failure.

Dean didn't look back as he said: "You have nothing else to say to me."

The girls turned to Cas, expecting some kind of moral discourse. He didn't open his mouth - despite looking contemplative for a brief moment. He simply flew away.

The red haired girl sighed. "What do we do with the food?"

"Eat it, I guess."


	19. Of caging birds

Dean locked the door and let out a sigh. He looked in the mirror; not even the thick darkness could smooth the wrinkles on his forehead, hide the tiredness in his features, neither did the sun could bring back the light in his eyes. His circles were deepening, their color accentuating. If his face was a mosaic, it would have been ghost white, baby purple, and crude green, and bloodshot red after consecutive sleepless nights.

"You know there is a human phrase for the way you behaved." A voice killed the silence - and it wasn't Dean's. It was the voice of an angel. He knew whose voice that was without looking. He huffed - and let Castiel continue.

"You were a dick."

"Was I supposed to just go along with that?" Dean inquired as they faced each other.

"No." The angel took a step forward. "But you could have been more agreeable."

"I wasn't, which evidently means I couldn't. Wait. Rectification: I didn't want to be more agreeable. I'm not Mr. Nice, I'm not here to bear with crap like that. I don't have the patience, alright?"

"You're underestimating yourself."

"Why don't you just flap your wings and leave me alone?"

"I don't want to leave you alone. You hurt people, you upset your friends, your brother - and me. What are you trying to prove by becoming heartless?"

"Those people need a firm hand. And I'm it."

"This was never your cross to carry, my friend."

It was true. Absolutely nobody put Dean Winchester in charge of those sixty souls. He'd made the choice. And that path was the only viable choice to him. The hero syndrome had always germinated inside of him.

"We're not friends. Not anymore."

"Choosing your head over your heart? It doesn't suit you. It never will."

"Shut up. You don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Oh, I know you." Castiel said provocatively, taking another step forward. "I know you better than anyone has ever known you, and that scares you."

"You're wrong." Dean answered pathetically. "I'm not scared of you. I've been to the other side and back. I'm not scared of anything."

"Love."

"No."

"Commitment."

"No."

"Vulnerability. Helplessness. Failure."

Dean grew too weak to continue to deny verbally, resorting to head shaking. He was walking a very thin, very unstable mental string, and _the asshole_ must knew that, but he kept pushing, and pushing him towards the edge.

"I miss you." Castiel told him, his voice coming across as stoic, concise. In reality it hid so much emotion. It managed to both terminate and reactivate something inside of Dean, who scoffed.

"Wake up, you pansy, we're in the middle of a fucking war! The Apocalypse. There ain't no time to play house. There ain't no time for holding hands and riding into the sunset. Don't you see? Playing house in the first place was what caused all of this shit! Playing time is over."

The man turned away, frustrated, running a hand over his face. He looked up, and then down, and then he abruptly span around, crushing the angel into the nearest wall.

His lips were onto Castiel's, pressing hard. The texture and the taste of his lips were intoxicating. The familiar warmth and wetness were making him want to cry. Dean missed him too. Not just physically. He simply missed being tender to him, being nice, being there. But he wasn't going to admit that.

Castiel let Dean kiss him in whichever way he wanted. His hands were gripping the collar of his shirt so tight it was almost suffocating. His flesh squeezed between the bricks and Dean's body. The angel was stronger than him. He could have simply pushed Dean away, and it would not have been too hard of a fight. But he chose to respond to Dean's violence with gentleness. His thumbs caressed his cheekbones. That only angered the man more.

"I fucking hate you." He growled, interrupting the kiss to look into Castiel's eyes for a reaction. As usual, _nothing_. His body language betrayed nothing.

Dean gripped his upper arm, and pushed him onto bed without mercy. The angel's skull crashed at maximum speed into the hard mattress, and his eyes closed involuntarily as he sucked in the pain through his nose. It hurt, but it wasn't something he couldn't handle.

The man climbed on top of him. That's when the door flew open, and a girl - Wendy, if Dean remembered correctly - came in and saw them.

"Sir, I.. uh... " She froze with the hand glued to the doorknob. "There... I think... There's a lit-little problem with th-the..."

"I'm busy." Dean cut her off.

"Yes, sir!" The girl nodded vigorously and fled, shutting the door behind her.

That was _something_. Dean didn't react to being seen. He didn't jumped off him, like Castiel expected him to. It was like Dean had one single goal, and nothing could stop him from reaching it.

"Spread your legs wider." The angel hesitated before following the given instructions, making room for the man between his thighs.

 _Spread your legs._  He had heared that phrase before. Cas had shared numerous intimate moments with Dean in the past, he had welcomed him between his legs countless times before. That position wasn't foreign to them because he trusted Dean. Because Dean had always prioritized his needs.

Fear. Castiel had never looked into his green eyes and felt fear before. Dean had him trapped like a bird in a cage now. But that wasn't the source of his fear. He was losing him. Dean Winchester no longer seemed to care about Castiel's needs, he didn't even bother asking if he was comfortable. It saddened him deeply.

"What's your escape plan this time, Blue Eyes?"

Castiel's eyes widened as a memory flashed before them.

_His fingers waited patiently on Dean's back for the right moment as they kissed. When the right moment came, he tickled Dean's sides mercilessly. That gave him the opportunity to run away with a sly smile sprouting in the corner of his mouth. Dean was taken aback at first, but he quickly sobered up and chased after him, catching him from behind, and spinning him around._

_"What an escape plan you pulled there, Blue Eyes."_ _He said between giggles._

"I have no plan." Castiel said flatly, letting his head fall. His gaze fell upon the sideway cross bracelet circling his wrist - a gift both thoughtful and meaningful.

It was from Dean, whom Castiel loved, and it symbolized faith, it reminded him of his origins, whom he'd never be separated from.

His lover and his faith - both crumbled before him.

"You're so hot." Dean suddenly moaned into his neck, and his skin crawled and twitched all over.

The next thing he knew was that his face hit the pillow. With a rapid movement, Dean filpped him on his stomach, pushing into him even harder. Castiel could feel his cock against his back like they didn't even wear layers no more.

If Castiel had felt exposed before, that brand new position they were in offered him nothing but another shade of that vulnerability. He no longer felt like a bird in a cage. He felt like a deer, and Dean was the hunter, or a predator of some sort.

"Part of me wants you to mewl and melt into these bed sheets as I make love to you slow and gentle." The hunter confessed, taking in the scent of his prey. His voice was low, dangerously low, but very loud against Castiel's ear. "Another wants to slam you into a fucking wall, tear you apart with my teeth, and just fuck you senselessly hard until you cum with my name on those pretty lips of yours like a little whore."

The angel held his breath, turning his head to the side to get a better look at Dean's face.

"Why do you have to be so obcene?"

Dean ignored his question. "How would you like to fuck me, huh, Cas ? Slow and gentle or rough?" He asked like he actually gave a damn about his opinion in that particular moment.

Castiel payed him back by beating around the bush. "I... think you're the one doing the 'fucking' part since you've put me into a submissive position. In fact, I've noticed that you prefer being in control, that you never let me be on top of you as a...Ah!" Dean rubbed against him once, pushing all of his weight into his back to make him stop talking. Naturally. Has Dean ever let him finish?

"Tell me." He urged.

"Please, spare me the humiliation, Dean. Whatever you do, just do it already."

Being treated like that didn't sit well with Castiel, but he didn't want to put up a fight and hurt Dean in the process either. Torn apart, he closed his eyes and let the decision be Dean's.

The man hovered above him a little longer, as the breath in the back of his neck persisted.

Suddenly, his grip on Castiel loosened. Uncertainty - that was a promising start.

The angel sighed in relief when Dean finally climbed off him. He'd prayed he would choose to stop.

The man left. He simply left, letting Cas lie there on the cold, hard mattress. Castiel suddenly felt very lonely.


	20. Ghosting

Cole O'Connor Stadium, September 30th, 2016

  
It had been two months. Two full months of change, of stress, of accommodation. Late July had taken their hands and led them to their new home: Cole O'Connor Stadium, just outside Silicon Valley. It smelled like old sport shoes, and jerky, and butter popcorn.

Sam and Dean - two completely different brothers, Castiel - the only good rebel angel, and Kevin - a high-maintenance kid. At first it had been the four of them against the world.

At Kevin's insistence, Dean ultimately agreed to drive to his mother's hotel, only to discover that her body had already been taken over. Castiel could see her soul was missing. Because as a brand new rule of thumb, angels always killed their hosts once they gained thier magical "yes". He explained to them that unlike demons, angels needed the person's approval in order to possess their body. But the approval was not hard to get since they knew how to screw with the human brain.

They had to fight their way out of the hotel. Then they warded the Impala, avoiding stepping out of it for a long, long time. Angels were circling the car like vultures, but thanks to the holy symbols, they were unable to approach it.

The boys began calling people they knew - Charlie and Frankie, Ellen, Jo, and so on - to warn them, to help them, to tell them how to protect themselves. They were the only ones who knew, and they couldn't just keep that information to themselves. They also tried to reach Nadeen, but the shaman wouldn't answer.

Kansas was apparently as chaotic as Silicon Valley, and as... any other city of any other state of any other continent.

The Armed Forces continued their "protection system", locking people inside, and uselessly fighting against those celestial beings with tanks and guns. All they ever managed to do was to destroy buildings and lose men. _Fools_.

For a while, Dean and his group had to be careful of both them and the angels. The soldiers had orders to kill civilians on spot if they happened to see them walking freely on the streets (no more identification, no more questions), while the angels killed you on spot _just cause._

Slowly (but surely), angels got rid of the soldiers in the streets. Dean almost wanted to thank them because he no longer had to watch out for guys in uniforms when going out on supply runs. They still had to watch out for them winged bastards though. He wasn't sure if he'd really gained something or not.

By the time he discovered the Stadium, the number of people in his group had reached twelve: he and his brother, Kev and Cas, their old family friends, Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo, her cousin, Ash, Charlie and Frankie, and Benny, Claire and Jody, whom they'd met on the way.

Their initial residence was a cafeteria - decent, but they were many, and growing in number. And Dean was keen on the idea that sticking together was essential. He was also a visionary. He was sure there must be more survivors out there, and he needed more space for when he would stumble upon them.

The sky had gradually changed. At night, it looked normal, but the days were monotone grey, obscure, stuck in an invariable state of gloominess. The sun was still up there, following the cycle of raising and setting, but it simply didn't shine anymore. Castiel didn't have an explanation for that. Kevin came up with a theory: Angels were effervescent lights. Maybe they were the reason the sky used to be luminous during the day in the first place. Following that logic, now that Heaven had been depopulated, the sky was left lightless. And it didn't seem to have a secondary power generator.

Maybe. Whatever.

Dean couldn't be bothered by that detail. He had people to take care of. They followed him everywhere, and did all the things he said. Naturally. The one with the strongest will takes the cake.

They'd changed their location before their number increased. The Stadium was alright. It wasn't home, but Dean had already let go of the naive hope that one day, he would somehow be able to go back home with Cas.

"What do you think?" Sam asked Kevin once they were settled in.

"I mean... It's not home." The asian boy shrugged. "But home was never the destination, was it?"

"We'll make it feel like home."

"Sam. There's no way any other place could replace home. It's worse that it's a stadium, I've always hated sports."

Sam chuckled softly. "You're right, but you gotta stay positive. For your own good."

"I can't be positive right now."

"I understand. I do, believe me."

"How are Cas and Dean holding up?"  
Kevin tried to keep the conversation going, but Sam could see his roommate was really somewhere else.

"Cas is... Cas. He doesn't say much, but he's probably affected like everyone else, and Dean... I don't know. He's acting weird."

"How come?"

"Well, I told him I'd share a room with you - because, you know - only to find out from Cas that he and Dean don't go to sleep together."

"Oh, okay. Did you talk to Dean about it?"

"Yeah. He said, and I quote, 'It was Cas' choice, and I respect it.'"

"He lied?"

"No. Here's the thing. I confronted Cas about it, and he said it was true. I asked him why, and he said it was because he'd felt Dean didn't really want him around anymore."

"So, wait. It was... Dean who didn't want to share a room with Castiel, but was too _eh_ to tell him, so Cas felt that, and eased his job, pretending that he was the one who preferred not to share the room in the first place."

Sam had to take a step back and process all the information before replying. "Uh. Yeah, pretty much."

"Did they have a fight or something?"

"No, I don't think so. At least that's what they said. And even if Dean was trying to shove it under the carpet, I know for a fact that Cas wouldn't lie about that. Why would he?"

"Now that you mention it, I've also noticed your brother's been acting strange lately. Dean wasn't this... grumpy before. Have you heard him snap at Ash the other day for that stupid, little prank?"

"Yeah..."

"Man, I almost shit my pants and he wasn't even yellin' at me."

"I don't know what's up with him. Maybe he'll come around."

"I hope so."

-

People began to think that they were fucking / that Castiel was Dean's boytoy (to put it gently) for a number of reasons. The most obvious of all was the lack of personal space between them, and the way they looked at each other, some would say.

The angel was like an alien for the newer residents, some kind of beast their leader had managed to tame and make it work for them. There was also the fact that they were terribly sloppy.

In the beginning, they would still see each other despite not sharing a room. Dean would pull Castiel behind a wall, late at night, when most would had already gone to sleep, or after he'd come back from a run, tired and in need of his soothing touch. But those interactions had become shorter and shorter, and less frequent with time.

One night, in August, they were making out on the corridor. He had Cas pinned against the door of his room, hands into his coat and all. Freaking Margie, or whatever the hell her name was, happened to walk by and saw them. She bowed her head and continued her way. Okay. Great. Shit like that happens.

It happened again, a couple of weeks later. It was a peck - a very quick, innocent kiss on the side of his neck, in the player's tunnel, followed by someone walking by.

A few days after that, it happened the third time when, purely out of habit, Dean took Cas' hand and pressed his knuckles against his mouth.

They'd stopped kissing altogether weeks later - no more pecks, no more light touches, no more intimate exchanges. It happened - without conscious meaning, and without preparation. Yet people continued to think there was something going on between them.

That never stopped. They never asked. Noone had ever dared to. They would just talk behind turned backs, through whispers.


	21. Pilgrimage

"...an infestation hit the poor germanic villege. It rained. It rained without a leap, with rabid rodents like rats and mice. One day though, the eerie sound of a mysterious musical instrument filled the spaces between the ancient houses - a piper, dressed in a coat of many coloured, bright cloth, appeared. The piper promised to get rid of the rodents in return for a small payment, to which the people agreed to. Although the piper got rid of the rats by leading them away with his music, the people of Hamelin reneged on their promise. The furious piper left, vowing revenge."

Castiel watched Dean from the corner of his eye as he took a seat a few steps away from him and the kids. Unmoved, he continued the story.

"On a fervent day of August, when the mothers and the mothers' mothers were baking for the upcoming festival, and the fathers were out on the fields with the sheep, the children were playing carelessly in puddles of mud, raising castles. As promised, the piper returned, and led the them away with  his alluring song, just like he'd done with the rats. Their parents and grandparents cried for days, praying for their return."

The angel made an abrupt pause. His gaze drifted off, and he was suddenly silent, looking like he just remembered something. A little girl raised her hand - kindergarten way:  
"Did the children come back afterwards?" She asked Castiel, who waited a bit too long to answer.

"No." He said, making another long pause while staring into space. "But." He began again. "At least one of them remained behind."

"Was it a boy or a girl?" A little boy asked.

"Boy."

"Why did he remain behind?" Another little girl spoke.

"He was deaf and could not hear the music."

All the kids surrounding the angel went "Oooohhh!" like they'd just discovered America. Then they suddenly lost interest in the story, inviting Castiel to a round of "hide-and-seek". He declined gently. Without asking twice, they skipped away, screaming and laughing. Dean exhaled harshly through his nose. Children could be unpredictable like that.

The man realized that it was only him and Castiel on the bleachers now. He was already on his feet, ready to leave, when Dean got up too, and called out for him.

"Cas, wait."

Castiel turned to him, expectantly. Dean forgot what he was going to say.

"Pied Piper? That tale still gives me nightmares."

"It isn't a tale. The story is true."

Dean frowned. "Oh." That was definitely something he could have lived without knowing. As Castiel didn't reply and just continued to stare at him, Dean remembered why he was there.

"About last night." He began, knowing that he was signing up for a wild ride. "I don't expect forgiveness. Hell, it probably doesn't even mean anything, but I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry." Dean's voice had gradually become soft as a whisper and broke at the end. He was positive he was going to start crying. Castiel's gaze softened too - that didn't pass unnoticed by him.  
"What I did was awful. Inexcusable. Just plain terrible. I don't know what got into me last night, but I never ever meant to hurt you."

"You did nothing." Castiel pointed out calmly. "You stopped."

"But what if I didn't?" Dean's eyes were watery. Beside a clouded vision, he now spoke with a lump in his throat, too. "What if I went all the way and - God, I can't even think about it. To force myself on you like that... I'm so disgusted and... and ashamed of myself. I can't even bear to see my face in the mirror." There they were. The tears and their salty taste in his mouth. He was crying. His knees gave in, making him retake his seat. "And I'd be damned if I could understand how you're able to look at me like that." He said through a half-cry, half-laugh.

"Like what?"

"Like that." Dean repeated with annoyance. What didn't Castiel get? "With so much feeling... care, affection, love - name it."

"Why wouldn't I look at you like that?" Castiel asked, voice fading with every word. He came closer to Dean, sitting next to him after a brief moment of silence.

"Many reasons, Cas, many... I'm a jerk." Dean laughed tiredly. "A dick, as you said. I just... I've always lost the people who meant something to me. I used to think that I must've been born under an unlucky star. Now I realize it's probably just me."

"No, it's not."

"How can you say that?" The man's eyes squeezed, more tears rolling down his freckled cheeks. "Don't defend me after all I've done to you."

"You haven't done anything to me. I'm here, I'm fine. Dean-" Castiel ran a hand through Dean's hair to soothe him somehow. How ironic, Dean thought. He should've been the one comforting Cas, and not the other way around. He was too damn weak. "I forgave you."

Loving Dean was a journey Castiel didn't have a map for. The human heart, he'd found out, was intricate. It had more moods than blood vessels and tendons; it was hard to keep up with.

"Forgive yourself." He added quietly, wiping away some of his tears. Dean covered the angel's hand with his own, keeping it pressed to his cheek. Castiel didn't make any effort to remove it, letting his skin bathe in the warm dripping. In fact, he didn't even dare moving just to avoid startling Dean in some way.

They'd been sitting motionless like that for several minutes when Dean spoke again. "I thought I couldn't do both - be a good leader and a good partner. I don't why."

Castiel leaned back, raising his eyebrows. _Partner_. That was the an interesting etiquette. Dean had always used "friends", never "partners".

"You were faced with a though decision, and you chose everyone else over me." The angel nodded. It was a simple statement - like noticing the weather or reading the time - not an accusation. But Dean still gave him an apologetic smile and an explanation.

"I didn't... choose everyone else over you, Cas. I've tried to do so, yeah, but I failed, as you can see." Maybe he could do both. He could be a better man, and a better leader. He had to.

"I'm not upset." Castiel reassured him.

He really was an angel, wasn't he?

Man, Dean felt a million times better now - easy as a feather. Like he'd just went to the church to confess. He should have had that talk with Cas sooner.

Dean layed his hand down on his lap, beginning to draw patterns on the back of it, caressing the skin, and the knuckles. He didn't give a damn who saw them anymore. He could snuggle with Cas all he wanted, and it wasn't anyone's goddamn business.

Castiel was glad he was coming back.

Their little peace was torn apart by someone's scream. It startled them, raising them both from their seats without letting go of each other. People were running towards one of the gates. Dean and Castiel exchanged glances and followed them.

"Hey!" Dean called out for attention. "Everybody calm down!" He looked for someone whom he could talk to in the agitated crowd.

"Dean, it's Jesse." Vallery walked up to him.

"Jesse disappeared."

"Where?"

"The kids were playing hide-and-seek and Ginger..." The woman's voice cracked. "She said Jesse went to hide outside."

Dean turned to see two kids from earlier, sitting obediently a few metres away. One of them was little Ginger Lynn.

He put Vallery on stand by and went to ask her a few questions, not before sending Cas away to check the sigils.

"Ginger." The girl looked the other way.  
Nobody said it would be easy after all.

"Is it true? Did Jesse hide outside?"

That was a bit weird. The gates were opened by a child and nobody payed attention to it? How would he know the combination to open them anyway? Only Dean and a few more men knew it.

"Or did someone open the gate for him?" Why would any sane adult do that? "Ginger, please. Jesse's your friend, right? I bet you wouldn't want him to get hurt. So tell me what you saw."

Nothing.

He was about to try again when Cas appeared out of nowhere.

"All the sigils are intact." Fast as always.

"Fantastic. Could you give me a hand here?"

Castiel tilted his head, trying to understand what Dean meant.

"Oh." He understood.

The angel seemed to pat Ginger's head encouragingly in order to make her talk when he really just needed the touch to see inside her mind.

"Yes." Castiel said, acknowledging the truth. "Jesse left on his own."

Easy as that? The doors had just opened and closed for him?

"But the combination-"

Cas cut in: "The kids spied on you and the crew some time ago. That's where they heared the combination."

"Son of a bitch..." Dean muttered, searching the crowd for Sam. He spotted Benny instead - close enough. "Yo, Benny! Take your gun. We're going after the kid."

Benny nodded, holding up two fingers. Two minutes.

Dean was ready to go get his own gun when Cas grabbed his forearm, squeezing the muscle so tight it started to bruise. He sometimes forgot how strong he truly was.

"Don't." He said with slight panic in his tone.

"Hey. Easy, tiger. You're crushing my arm." Dean said, trying to free himself with a firm gentleness. Castiel let go reluctantly, smoothing his sleeve.

"A kid is in danger. You think I'm gon' sit 'round on my ass? I'll be fine. I'm in no way virgin to the outside world." Dean paused a little, and then: "Wait in my room for me, alright? This won't take long - he can't be that far."

A soulful stare and halfhearted nod.

"Go."


	22. Cradle for a soul

Castiel went back to it. Dean's room. He hadn't been there many times before. Onto the unaccustomed ground, his steps were coy. He was familiar with the bed though, where his head had suffered a nuclear fission last night.

Castiel noticed the position of the pillow, the patterns on the sheets - Dean hadn't moved them an inch, which probably meant that he hadn't slept. Did he even return to his room after Castiel had left?

The angel sat on the edge of the bed to take in the surroundings. His bedroom was really a locker room with too many lockers for the little wardrobe he owned. The windows were a bit too high for a man - fortunately, Dean was pretty tall.

Castiel got back on his feet to take a better look at his desk because that's where he seemed to keep most of his belongings (some of them he kept inside those lockers or just tossed around).

What appeared to be Dean's diary layed open on top. He stared at it for a moment before removing the pencil from between the pages and pressing them together.

Castiel's attention shifted to a drawer. Without much thought, he pulled the handle, curious of what was hiding inside: the pen of a guitar, some beer caps - _was he collecting them?_ \- a watch without batteries, a figurine he used to see on the board of the Impala, but most importantly, the feather from him. Castiel touched it briefly before shutting the drawer. The angel took his coat off and let it rest next to one of Dean's leather jackets on the back of the chair.

Underneath, he wore a black shirt that might have been Dean's at some point, black pants to match it. His clothes had all turned black, the only thing on him that usually lightened up his outfit being the beige trench coat.

-

A bit past midnight Dean came back. The angel was so relieved to see him, even if he probably didn't express that very well. The door opened and he sat up straight, his eyes meeting Dean's. He froze like that.

"Did you find Jesse?"

"No." Dean replied tiredly. "We'll resume the search tomorrow."

Castiel's gaze fell on the floor. "You're only wasting bullets."

"Don't worry. I'm not making you give up any more grace this month."

"Dean."

"If we lose 'em all while searching for Jesse, we lose 'em all. We'll survive with the little we have in the storage 'till next time, and that's that."

"Dean. Extracting more grace wouldn't be a problem. Whatever you need, I'll give you."

"I know that. I know, alright? That's why I don't want you to push it to the extreme."

"Don't you think I know my limits?"

Truth be told, no, he didn't really know his limits when it came to Dean Winchester.

"I don't wanna fight." Dean was wearing just a wife-beater and his jeans, boots kicked off somewhere - God knows where. His eyelids felt heavy. "How are you feeling anyway? I know losing fuel sucks for you."

"I'm feeling good."

"Be honest. You still get headaches?"

Castiel's lips parted, unsure of what to respond.

"Well?"

"Yeah -- it doesn't matter."

"It does, you dumbass." The man sighed. He had neglected his angel long enough. "You in the mood for music?" He walked up to the radio and pressed play. The tape picked up from where it had been left off. "Every breath you take" was the song that filled the room. The volume was low so they could still hear each other.

"Do you want to... stay overnight?"

"I'll stay if you want me to."

"I want you." Dean said overconfidently, feeling his eyes water a little - _Nope._ He wasn't planning on crying like a baby again. Cas noticed his exhaustion and the fact that he hesitated to go to bed. More like going _near_ the bed. So he took his hand and led the way, proving him everything was alright and that there was nothing to fear. They were going to be alright.

He made Dean lie down as he lied next to him. Dean was a mass of energy and emotion. Cas has always been able to feel him, to feel what he felt. The strong essence of what he was, the soul inside of him, could not be submerged - and it was everywhere. Everywhere around him. Dean was full of rue. He could see through him, and hear his insecurities.

"I love you." He attempted to make them go away.

Dean turned his head to look him in the eye. "I don't deserve it."

Castiel propped himself into an elbow and repeated the phrase - louder, clearer, adding a little annoyance, too. As if Dean hadn't heard him the first time. There was no chance he was going to let Dean invalidate his feelings for him like that.

"I love you."

Dean didn't respond this time. That's all Castiel needed. For him to just shut up and accept it. He sensed Dean's deepest thoughts calming down. His heart was no longer racing for the win either.

-

Dean woke up in Castiel's arms, with the radio still playing. It hadn't been just a sweet dream, they were back. His fingertips brushed away a few dark strands from Cas' forehead -- strangely enough, he was asleep. He was actually sleeping, not just pretending to do so. That could only mean one thing - the angel wasn't feeling as "good" as he'd said.

If Castiel felt the need to sleep, that meant his grace was still regenerating. And if his grace was still regenerating, and he needed sleep, he sure as hell nedeed food, too. Dean got up of bed, careful not to wake him up.

He still had to meet up with Benny and continue to search for Jesse. He'd promised his mother. But before that, he had something else to do.

-

Castiel stared at the plate. _Jerky and french fries first thing in the morning? And was that cheese topping?_  Next to it, a small note. He picked it up. It was Dean's messy handwriting - it read:

_Enjoy the meal. That's really all I know how to cook. If you don't count making sandwiches and peeling apples as cooking, of course. I also got a burn for you so welcome._

Castiel wished his food didn't taste like molecules. Well, at least he could profit from all the nutrients in that plate: meat fiber, the calcium of the lactate, carbohydrates and vitamin C from the vegetable - Dean had managed to bring together different floors of the food pyramid in a nice way.

-

"How many this time?" Sam asked as soon Dean got back.

"I ganged about four sons of bitches -- Benny two or three. Do the math."

"And the kid?"

"Nowhere."

"Dean. Let's be real here for a second. Here's probably either one of them or ditched by now."

"Look, Sammy. If tomorrow we don't find him, I give up."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That... was easy. I mean, I thought you'd go on a full speech about how you won't stop until you find him or shit."

"Oh, I wanna find him. Believe me when I say this. I hope I find him tomorrow. But just like you, I don't think he's still alive. It's been two days and he's just a kid. He couldn't have possibly survived that long on his own."

"What are you going to tell Vallery and Lewis?"

"The truth?"

"Seems like the only option."

"Yeah. Have you seen Frankie, by the way?"

"Try the terrace." Sam meant the big terrace in the South Stand, but Dean's mind inevitably traveled back to the small terrace, to that set up dinner...

"Uh. Thanks."

His brother guessed right. Dean found Frankie sitting at the bar. Instead of a drink, she had a pen in her hand, and a helluva lot of crumbled papers around her.

"You working on your next big story?" Dean asked her playfully. She turned to him with a smile.

"Kind of. I'm dealing with a gruesome case of writer's block at the moment. Everything I write sounds... off. What's up with you? Any luck today?"

"No, not at all."

"Poor Jesse. He was... is - I'm not sure if it's too soon to use the past tense - a good boy. He drew me a cover for my novel. Wanna see it?"

Dean shrugged ("Sure."), and Frankie pulled out a picture from her notebook. He squinted at it for a while, trying to see the story behind the images. Jesse definitely liked the color green.

"That's an alien." The girl pointed to a weird-shaped creature.

"Oh."

"That's his ship. It's made of sponge cake. And that's a cyborg unicorn - who shits rainbows." She laughed.

Dean could see that. The concept was explicitly represented on the sheet.

"Wide imagination."

"True. Very SF-y. Except my novel is a psychological drama."

"You could get into that unicorn's mind and find out what made it shit rainbows."

"He's gay. Case closed."

"Huh."

"Makes sense."

"It does -- hey, are you free tomorrow?"

"Dean. I'm gay, too." The girl began to laugh harder than before. Dean realized that came out wrong, cleared his throat, and tried again: "Not like that. I wanted to know if you could tag along - if we somehow stumbled across Jesse, it would be nice to know for sure it's him, you know?"

"Wow. General Winchester, how come you ask before hand?"

"I'm trying to be nicer."

"Since when? -- Wait. Don't answer that. Just keep it up."

"So?"

"Count me in, yeah."

"Good."

"You know what's interesting? They've changed over time - their appearance." Dean cocked his head, frowning.

"Really?" He'd never cared about how those winged fuckers looked like behind their meatsuits so he'd never really talked to Frankie about it. "How exactly?" But there he was.

"Each angel kinda looks the same to me - shaped light, like the light in a bulb except... It's human shaped. What makes the difference is their wings. I've never seen two identical pairs before. They were all very pretty in the beginning, but now... Every time I see an angel, their wings look... poor, like they're balding. Like a tree in the fall."

"How come?"

"Kevin says it's their dignity."

"Their dignity what?"

"That it's their dignity and holiness crashing down. He thinks the wings are supposed to represent their dignity, I guess. Innocence - whatever."

"Where does the dude get those theories from?"

"I was wondering the same thing."

"Uh, what about -- what about Cas? What does his wings look like?"

"Cas?" Frankie paused to think. "Ummm, yeah. Cas is pretty. I mean, his wings are - but he's pretty too. 'Cause he's got a different kind of vibe goin' on."

"And his wings are... black?"

"Black... Black as coal... Nice contrast with that immaculate white." The girl noted absentmindedly. "They're pretty masive - but I think I've mentioned this to you before. They take a helluva lot of space since they're so big. I wish I could physically touch them because, I don't know, the feathers are also a bit different from what I've seen before. They seem really... "

"Smooth."

"Smooth. Thick. Like made from a superior material compared to the others."

"Wow. Well. " Dean let out a short, suppressed laugh. What did he do with that information? Cas was some type of high class angel, the ultimate cinnamon roll - too pure, too precious for the world. "Okay. Thanks for... the talk. I'll see you around."

"Absolutely... Oh, and Dean?"

"What is it?"

"You could've asked him instead."

-

Dean headed for the infirmary in search for the angel, finding him on the way. The man grabbed his wrist, ending up enlacing their fingers together. Castiel looked up at him and said nothing. The corner of his mouth, though, moved upwards into an unobtrusive smile. Dean returned the favor on the spot.

As they were walking, Dean felt a tingly sensation in his palm. He shook it off. Then the realization of what just happened hit him. Looking down at his hand, he saw that the burn from earlier that day was now gone. Dean was about to start moralising about how Cas shouldn't waste his grace on little things like that when he stopped himself to reconsider - he decided to say "thanks" and let it go instead.

"Are you planning on helping me feed the patients?" Cas asked out of pure curiosity when Dean just continued to hold his hand.

"Entertaining the kids, feeding the sick... What are you -- Mother Theresa?"

"No, she was a God-sent, and a more righteous person than most of us."

"Okay, okay. Sum it up for me. Who needs our assistance?"

"I believe Mrs. Praddo is developing some neurological disorder. It's become impossible to feed herself because of the tremor she experiences in her limbs."

"Well, she's old."

"I might need to heal her."

"Alright, who else?"

"Tory Levine - she'd brought her twins in yesterday. They have been dealing with high fever and severe stomach ache from food poisoning. Meg wanted to keep them under observation so they'll be staying at the infirmary for a few days."

"So two babies and a granny -- no problem."

-

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Meg said when Castiel and Dean stepped into the medical room. "One of the Grimm brothers - and not even the cute one."

Chuck was there too, reading a magazine.

Dean replied with false enthusiasm."Meg - what a sight for sore eyes you are. You make me wanna pull 'em out."

"Be my guest."

"No, no. After you."

"You guys should be in a sitcom, did you know that?" Chuck laughed without raising his eyes from the horoscope rubric.

"Thanks, dude. But I think Meg would be better suited for a horror. Imagine: Hell's nurse."

"How original, Winchester." The girl yawned in his face.

"Just think about how many cases of serial killer nurses are out there."

"You need to stop watching CIA Miami. How come you two are able to maintain eye contact again anyway? Did you have make-up sex last night?" Meg's voice sounded pesky. She then turned to Castiel, asking more seriously: "Did you suck his dick?"

Chuck let out a gasp. Dean rolled his eyes: "Yeah. You got a problem with that?" It wasn't true, but she didn't need to know that.

Meg's reaction was a mocking laugh. "You wish, Winchester. You wouldn't get to score an unicorn like Cas." That, on the other side, was true - Cas was a rarity. But Meg was still wrong about the scoring part. Dean was a magnetic guy, he'd never had trouble getting in someone's pants. With Cas though - he'd never really even tried.

"Hey, sunshine. I'm leaving this place on your hands while I'm gone." The nurse told Castiel. They were used to the procedure. It was like working in shifts.

"Of course."

"Chucky, wanna grab a bite?"

Chuck nodded.

"What does 'make-up sex' refer to?" Cas asked once he and Meg were gone. Dean's lip puckered.

"Um. It's when two people in a couple fight and then they restore the bond through sex."

"That's an odd way to restore a bond."

"Ya think?" The man chuckled. "I don't know 'bout that. What's your take on restoring bonds?"

Castiel was contemplative for a moment. His answer came soon: "Well." He began carefully, still thinking about what words worked best. "A bond can sometimes be restored by a little bit of music and a simple breakfast, too."

Dean smiled with his eyes.

-

Ten minutes later he was trying his best to feed the granny and not fall asleep.

"My second husband was nothing like my third. Self prick took my money and ran away." Mrs. Praddo said, her limbs trembling like Castiel said they were.

"Which one?" Dean asked through clenched teeth.

"Which one what, dear?"

"Which one ran away with the money? The third or the second?"

The old lady's mouth formed an "o", remaining like that for a bit. She wasn't moving. Dean had to squint at her to make sure she was still breathing. "Jarrod!" She yelled, making Dean hit the back of his chair. His heart skipped a beat -- or two.

"That devil."

"Granny, are you sure you don't want any more soup?"

"No, no, sweetie. I'm good." That's all Dean needed. He fled in a heartbeat. His legs led him to the other room, where he knew Castiel was - their medical "room" was more like three rooms with tears in the walls instead of doors. The angel was leaning against a crib, having one of the twins secured in his arms. His little head was pointed outward, resting in the crook of Castiel's arm. Sucking from the bottle, his big eyes were staring up at Castiel with defined consideration. It was a sight that made Dean bashful enough to look the other way.

"That's a hell of a way to hold a baby."

"Am I holding him wrong?" Castiel's eyebrows knitted together.

"Huh? Oh, no! That's the proper way, you're doing just fine. And that's what... surprises me."

"Holding a human baby is not hard science."

Seeing Castiel do it was.

"Want me to help you with his brother?"

Castiel hummed in response. Dean took that as a "yes", all that domestic atmosphere smothering him. He reached for the baby in the crib, who started bawling as soon as Dean put his hands on him. He felt victimized -- he did absolutely _nothing_ to upset the kid.

"Wow, buddy. I get you got lungs, but you don't have to dry 'em out on me -- what's in the bottle?" Dean noticed its color. It was not milk.

"Some baby food based on vegetables mixed with medicine. I don't really know, Meg prepared them."

"Ah -- I don't think this kid likes it very much."

Each time Dean tried to give him the bottle, he spitted out to continue throwing a tantrum. The man looked at Castiel with a semi-desperate face, and Castiel stared at them for a while to see if the baby would stop crying any time soon - of course he didn't. He then put his twin in the crib and approached Dean. "Allow me." He said.

Dean was more than happy to let him take the baby. The skin of their hands touched in the process. As soon as he found himself in Castiel's arms, the boy chased to shout and squirm. Calm as a lake - that's what he was. Dean's eyes widened. Castiel had to be cheating.

"The hell you're doing to him?"

"I'm not doing anything."

 _Well, shit._ The look in those blue eyes was genuine.

"Oh, so he simply hates my face."

"That has to be the cause."

"Why, thank you. Don't even think of sugar-coating it for me, love."

Castiel listened carefully to Dean's tone to understand whether he really was mad or not. It was half-offended, half-amused. An irony. He was okay.

"You are welcome. Mind handing me the bottle, Dean?"

 _Oh, right._ He was still holding it. "Here."

Just like his sibling (now asleep), the baby was mellow in Cas' hold. He didn't refuse the bottle this time, although it was _the same freaking bottle_ Dean had tried to offer him.

"Maybe you just have a gift with the children."

Cas looked up from the baby - not high enough to meet Dean's eyes though. "I don't -- I doubt my Father would have had any reason to bless me with such a gift. I was supposed to be a warrior, not a nurturer."

"I contradict you. Look at yourself."


	23. A world gone wild

"You take care of yourself, alright?" Dean said on the brink of leaving. He got his gun with its magic bullets, and his duffel bag fixated on his back.

"I could tell you the same." Castiel responded.

"Them flyingass monkeys got no chance on me. They never do."

"Dean. Overconfidence will kill you."

"Then Imma play it cool." He caught a glimpse of Benny and Frankie in the distance, approaching at the speed of a snail.

"Looks like the team is here. It's time to go. Open the gate for my Baby, will ya?"

Castiel nodded.

The third day of searching for Jesse. And there were three of them now. Luckily, they would come back four people.

Dean, Frankie and Benny hopped in the car, and the angel introduced the combination to open the gate. The Chevy Impala slid through the newly passable space, disappearing behind a building.

-

Dean took upon a different route than the previous two days, driving past some angels - fallens. Castiel once told him the term "angel" didn't fit those creatures anymore. They were roaming the streets like mindless zombies, like rabid dogs ready to attack. That's what the fallen ones really were.

Falling was a punishment set by God. If an angel rebelled, it would be called "rogue". The "rogue" stage was like a prelude to falling - that's why the rebells had to be dragged back to Heaven to be judged before they got to sink in sin and shit even more, and turn. He had learned that the fallen ones were worse than demons. The demons had consciousness, whereas the fallen ones didn't. Frankie was able to see their consciousness degenerating.

Dean wasn't sure how, or why Castiel hadn't fallen yet. He was pretty damn clear when he said falling was guaranteed if the rogue angel kept disobeying. And last time he checked, Cas had never stopped doing whatever the fuck he pleased. More over, from the way Frankie described his wings, and if Kevin's theory was right, he was doing great - his dignity still intact and all. Maybe his Dad was playing favorites.

So. "Fallen" was the right term, but Dean would just continue to call them angels because that was more familiar to him. Call them all you want, it didn't matter. Addressing them correctly was not his job. Blowing their brains out was.

-

"All I'm saying is that we're lucky to still have electricity. But in a few years or less? We'll be living in the dark. We need to profit now. Live in the moment. 'Cause hear me out. Without maintenance - psh - the infrastructure is slowly fallin', people, even if you don't see it."

"We're not turning the control room into a studio, Ash." Jo said firmly.

"But why?" Ash hunched over the table. They were trying to have a peaceful dinner, but he kept talking and talking.

"He's right." Kevin intervened.

Multiple revolted voices jumped all at once.

"Don't feed his ideas, please." Jo spoke between bites. They were eating the last solid food they had in the storage: beans and some mysterious half-cooked meat. They didn't have a proper stove so they were roasting shit on the radiator. The portions had gotten slimmer and slimmer over the past few weeks because there was nobody left to re-fill the shelves of all of the shops they'd cleaned.

They would no longer receive two pieces of bread, but one, the soup was more water and boullion than anything else, tasteless because they had ran out of salt, the occasional snacks they used to spoil themselves with had long disappeared from their diet. Only two, sometimes one meal a day - but hey, some out there had it worse. They were still alive and that alone mattered the most.

"But he is right." Kevin didn't give up.

"The infrastructure is falling. We think we're smart because we've survived this long, but things will get uglier. Wait and see."

Ash didn't give up either. "Nah, man! Rather than 'Wait and see' I prefer: 'Enjoy today like the end's tomorrow's - which was my motto before the Apocalypse, too. But anyway. As I was saying, let's turn the control room in a studio and entertain these people. I'll be your DJ host."

"I like the idea." Charlie intervened.

"Who else likes it? Let's vote! Raise a hand!" Charlie raised a hand with enthusiasm, grabbing Kevin's hand at same time and raising it for him. Sam raised it too, and so did Claire. Ash raised both of his hands, of course, and Jo felt bad for being the only one at the table not voting "pro" so she ended up agreeing.

"Dean is gonna kill us." She said faintly.

"We need music." Ash realized, ignoring her altogether.

"Dean has a lot of it. I have some too." Sam told them.

Claire snorted loudly. "So we either listen to Britney Spears every morning or have someone ask Dean for his CDs and potentially be murdered on the spot? Huh. Which one, which one."

"I don't -- listen to Britney Spears!"

"That's what Dean says."

Sam just rolled his eyes instead of trying to defend his tastes any further.  
They continued to talk about how cool it would be to wake up with a "morning call", followed by beats from an 80s rock band, about what subjects should be brought up on the "broadcast", about how it would distract everyone from their worrisome thoughts. Because each person had some, even if they never talked about them. Calm on the outside didn't mean calm on the inside.

Meanwhile, Castiel refused to eat. He'd been waiting in Dean's room all day for his return. An very unsettling sensation was burning his chest, making it hard for him to eat, to get any rest, to even get out and talk to other people.

The angel understood why a night and a half a day later, when Dean still hadn't come back. Everyone was slowly slipping into a state of panic because their leader was just -- gone.

Some assumed Dean was probably just extending his searches. To the more pessimistic hearts, he was dead already. Castiel was a realist; The chances for him to be alive or dead were 50/50. He was giving his best not to act like the distressed lover he was, to use his logic instead of his feelings. His new primary instinct was protect Dean. His instinct was dangerous, it was guiding him outside.

Pacing around, he bumped into Sam, who was just as worried as him. Of course he was. That was normal, he was Dean's blood after all. Thinking back, Sam had done the unimaginable to protect his big brother, and Castiel suddenly realized he could use him. He and Sam could work something up together to bring their dear one home.

"Sam." Cas felt a rush of adrenaline caused by the desperation within him. "I know this is not fair of me to ask, but would you be able to locate Dean using your magic knowledge?"

Sam didn't question his request. "Like seeing through a magic globe, stuff like that?"

"Yes."

"Yeah -- if I had a magic globe. But I guess I could improvise something instead."

"What do you need?"

"Not much. A mirror, but that's easy to find, and the ashes of one Dean's things - but it has to be something really personal, to mean something to him. Also coffee - very important."

"I'm going to bring the mirror and Dean's belonging."

"Okay. I'll go to Ellen and see if we still got coffee."

-

The angel figured it would burn easily, so he brought Sam the feather he'd given Dean that Christmas back then. Sam looked at "funnily", as Dean would call it, and took it gratefully. He lit up a match and watched it burn. Its ashes were mixed with coffee powder, and blown across the surface of the mirror. Sam said a few words in latin. They waited. Anticipation only melted into disappointment; the mirror didn't magically turn into an eye.

"This was supposed to work?" Ellen asked.

"I mean... Coffee is used by most practitioners to read into situations and unravel secrets, the mirror is a clairvoyant, okay? The conductor. And the feather had the link to Dean, and the chat was specific for finding a lost person or object, I didn't invent it."

"But you did invent this spell." Jo pointed out. "You just put the most appropriate items together."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Castiel had.

Hours later when everyone was already asleep, he found himself standing in front of the gate. He could no longer sit around and wait, the urge to do something was too strong. And even though Dean would have probably disagreed with his choice, he didn't care.

"I'll go." A voice called from behind, and he knew without turning that it was Sam's. "You should remain here. These people will die without you."

The angel let out a tremulous exhale. Something a human would do before starting to cry. But he didn't cry.

"Please." He said in a menacing voice that someone managed to indicate weakness at the same time. "Allow me to be selfish and think about Dean, and Dean's well being only."  
  
"You won't be able to come back in here unless we erase all the sigils -- everywhere."

"I am very much aware, yes. I would be guarding the gates from the outside."

"Cas, no. This is stupid, man. Your place is here within the safety of this walls, with us."

Castiel gave him a quirked smile. "No, it's not."

Sam puffed air throw his lips and rubbed his eyes briefly.  
"Fine. Let's do it."

-

  
The streets were empty. They would always appear to be peaceful, just because the fallens were cunning. Their attack would take you by surprise, put you down, take you out in no time. They fought like people, but they were a million times stronger than an ordinary man.

They walked and walked, passing numerous buildings. Sam was quite surprised of the lack of interference. Castiel told him that perhaps they haven't been jumped yet because he was there. His presence was scaring them off. He was more powerful than a lot of his fellow angels.(or fallens). Even than Anna and Uriel, although they used to be his superiors. They were higher in the hierarchy just because they were much older than Castiel, carrying a rich experience on their shoulders. Castiel was actually not that old by angel terms. He was one of the angels born late, very late after the world had been created, being part of a generation of fools and incompetents, as Uriel used to call it. Uriel had always had a way with the words. Castiel would often think he wasn't that bad. His quirky remarks towards everyone and everything would amuse him at times. He used to be so displeased and grouchy it would often add a little spice to their missions.

They had been walking for an hour or so when a first fallen dared to step out of the shadows and swing a sword at them. Cas recognized the weapon -- it was the kind of sword a pretty rare type of angels used, the Gregory Angels. He didn't recognize its owner though. It was terrible how, behind their vessels, their faces had changed so much, and he didn't doubt that if they happened to encounter an angel he used to know, he wouldn't be able to tell who it was anymore.  
Castiel and the Gregory danced around a little. Fighting another angel through a vessel was different than fighting in his true form. Their vessels made them weaker. Castiel was weak. He realized how weak he truly was when he almost got decapitated by his opponent. Thankfully, Sam put a bullet through his skull in the last second, and he was saved. The fallen burst into light and a high-pitched scream, much louder in Cas' was ears than in Sam's.

"Are you okay?" He asked, helping Castiel up.

"Okay is overrated."

Sam laughed softly. "Don't lose your head yet."

"I don't intend to." Castiel paused, looking up for a brief moment. He hadn't seen the sky in a long time, not even from underneath it. Dusky and lifeless - that's how it looked. He wondered if there were any other angels left up there. Probably not, because if that was the case, they would've tried to smite the ones on Earth. But nobody ever came to their rescue. And he didn't want to believe Heaven still sheltered some of his sisters and brothers, but they simply didn't care enough to do something.  
Castiel and Sam continued to search for Dean, Benny and Frankie, stumbling across more and more angels on the way. Castiel's presence no longer appeared to be a threat for them. They must have smelled the tenuity of grace in him, his fatigue and strain. Thoughts of not being able to protect Sam any further and find Dean were draining him mentally.

Traveling by foot was very risky. Sam hadn't walked so much before. During supply runs they'd drive, get out, move as fast as they could to gather the necessities, and go back to the car. This was different. Sam called Castiel stupid for wanting to leave, but suddenly realized he was probably the stupid one. Without Cas by his side, he would have been long dead by now.  
Sam's legs abruptly stopped working. He tapped Cas vigorously on shoulder, startling him. Something in the distance caught his attention.

"Am I hallucinating?" He asked Cas, pointing with chin towards the subject of his interest. Castiel followed his gaze. His eyes widened seeing the Impala far, so far away it looked like an ant. It couldn've been any other car, but he was pretty sure it was the Impala. They made a run for it. 

Once they reached the car, their jaws dropped in disappointed. Baby had been abandoned. The door on the driver's side was open. Dean must have left in such a hurry he didn't bother to close it behind him. The keys were still in there so a small hope that Dean would come back to it if they waited rushed through Cas' veins. But when Sam turned the key they found out the car had ran out of fuel and Dean and the others had probably been forced to get out and try to return to the stadium without a vehicle. They'd probably died in the process. The situation was pretty clear, at least that's how it was to Castiel. Sam refused to believe that version.

"He's probably somewhere around here. He must've warded a grocery shop or something and he's hiding. We need to find him."

"Sam..."

"He's alive."

And so they searched for signs, leads - Sam said Dean would leave leads in case someone went looking for them because Dean was smart like that. Cas didn't even know what to look for.

Things turned a lot brighter when they decided to enter a random pharmacy, not too far from the Impala, and Castiel couldn't approach the door. The place was sealed. Sam rushed inside and saw enochian symbols painted on the door ans under the window. Dean or -- someone was there.

Cas waited outside while Sam inspected the shop in hope to find something the person might have left behind. Then he found it. Under the counter, a knife was piercing vertically through a piece of paper, and there was a single word directed to him.

 _Hi, Sam_.

"Hi." Castiel read with slight revolt in his voice. "Hi?"

"No, not hi." Sam laughed, and Castiel wanted to punch him. "High. Someplace high."

"Couldn't he say so?"

"No, but. Get this." Sam let out another airy, quiet laugh out. "After Dean got his first job at 16, he would buy me a lot of treats. Though he'd never give them to me right away. He would make me search for them and he would leave cryptic clues for me to follow. Each time Dean would hide something somewhere high like our three house or the attic, he would leave a 'Hi, Sam.' behind. It confused me at first. But then I got it."

"So Dean headed for someplace high."

"Apparently."

"But there are so many tall buildings he could've chose from."

"Yeah. That's probably why he chose something more eye-catching. Like a tower. How about that one?" Sam pointed to a small church. A ten minute walk. Castiel was skeptical, but he agreed to check it out.

Once they hit the corner, they were petrified. At least twenty angels with murderous eyes were facing them now, all equipped with swords and blades, and much more grace than Cas. And hell, when he touched Sam's upper arm to fly out of there, he came to the horrific realization that he didn't have enough mojo to do that.

"Run." He said calmer than the circumstances required. They ran, throwing fugitive looks behind. Castiel noticed how the fallens were struggling to use their wings in an attempt to move faster, but their wings were mostly stripped of feathers. Not all of them apparently, because one managed to zap in front of him in a blink of an eye. He managed to cut his shoulder, just a little bit. Light spread out of the wound. The sound of a gun echoed before he reached his own knife to fight the fallen off. That was the second time Sam saved him today.  
Suddenly, Castiel wasn't running in the same direction as Sam anymore. The man yelled after him.

"What are you doing?"

"Go to the pharmacy, I'll head for the church."

Sam didn't have time to protest. He parted ways with Castiel, and continued to run. And the angels chased after him, more interested in his human self than in Castiel whom they simply ignored, letting him go. When he reached the pharmacy, Sam kicked the door open, and kicked it back shut, sighing in relief. The angels remained on the outside, staring at him through the window.


	24. Irruption

Cas no longer attracted attention without Sam's company. He passed by a few fallen ones, prepared to defend himself against them. None layed a finger on him. That was convenient since he probably didn't even have the strength to engage in combat with so many at once.

The wound on his upper arm was throbbing, but the truth was that it hurt less than the one Uriel had given him so he could handle it. The little grace he had inside of him was involuntarily working to heal it. Castiel didn't know how to stop it, he needed it for better purposes like protecting Dean once he found him, and Sam, and Frankie and Benny if they were still alive.

He pushed the door open and remained by it, shy to venture any farther into the church like a runaway child coming home to a half-angry, half-grateful father. But not his Father was the one to welcome him. It was no other than Dean, who initially put his gun up in the air when he spotted someone in the dim light.

"Dean."

Dean's hold on the gun loosened.

"Cas?"

Relieved, Castiel sprinted towards him. Dean met him half-way into a tight hug. His nose was buried in Cas' hair, while Cas rubbed his face into the crook of his neck.

"You came alone?"

"No. I came with Sam."

"Where is he? Is he okay?"

"He's okay. Back at the pharmacy you've sealed. I -- I see no sigils here." Castiel realized, blinking fast a couple of times. "You didn't...?"

"I didn't need to. It's just as good as sealed. Something's keepin' them out."

Castiel frowned deeply. He turned his head into all of the directions possible. He started moving around as if he was searching for a lost item, and Dean didn't know what to make out of that.

"Why here?" Castiel asked with a lower voice than before.

"...to be able to see long-distance -- monitor the surroundings. I was in the tower up until now."

"Hi, Sam?"

"I -- yeah." Dean laughed softly. The corners of his mouth turned downside when he noticed the angel's wound. He reached out to cover it with his palm, drowning the light. Cas' arm tensed up.

"They got you?"

"Just... slightly."

They took a moment just to look each other in the eye and be glad they were both alive.

"What happened? You ran out of gas..."

"I did. We..." The man cleared his throat and licked his lips as Cas invited him to sit at the pew. He continued sadly: "Benny's dead. His body taken over. I don't know where Frankie is. We actually found Jesse. But, uh. I lost him as I lost Frankie."

"Where was that?"

"Couple of streets down from here, near a hospital. We were trying to get back to the car when we were jumped by a freaking _horde_. And in the middle of that chaos I just lost them. Went back to the car and drove slowly looking for them, but nothing. Then I ran out of gas."

"What is the name of the hospital?

"Saint Louis And Something."

"I'll have the place checked one more time..." Castiel got up from his seat only to have his spinning head force him back down. "...But I need to sit down for a moment." He covered his face with a hand, receiving a worried look from Dean.

"Hey, take your time. Take how much time you need." Dean said, tugging him closer. He removed Cas' hand, proceeding to cup his cheeks and smoothen his eyebrows with his thumbs, applying the right kind of pressure.

"What are you doing?"

"No idea. My mom used to do this to me when I had a headache. Does it help at all?"

"It feels good."

"Good. I'm not sure how much these headaches of yours have to do with the lack of fuel as they do with the fact that your face is a constant frown."

"You're no better."

"No, I'm not. But you shouldn't be like me."

They shared a short-lived moment of silence, then the husky voice of the angel echoed through the church again.

"What was your mother like? Your father?"

"Don't you know?" Dean huffed.

"I saw her briefly in your memories, but I didn't dare to venture any farther. It felt like a violation of intimacy, and I know you like your intimacy when it comes to certain things."

Dean fought to come up with a proper answer, but he ended up swallowing his own words.

"Dean?" Castiel insisted.

"She was -- she was a mother. In the real sense of the word."

"Could a mother be any other way?"

"You'd be surprised."

"I like it how your family seems to have its little habits -- quirks. This. The games you used to play with Sam. That picturesque scene you keep replaying in your head with your mother on the porch and your father in the garage. My family memories consist only of battlefields and power struggles."

"What about... what about, you know, your dad?"

"Oh, I've never even met my Father."

"Why? He's too busy for some father - son time or what?"

"I don't know."

"Then who knows?"

"The older angels. Lucifer. The reason why God chose such a secluded life is unknown to me, but they should know. I heard some say, while still in Heaven, that God is in fact dead. And we are following an imaginary set of rules that no longer apply."

"I kinda agree here, Cas. He's never really answered your prayers, has he? What if he is dead?"

"Just because someone dies, it doesn't mean they cease to exist."

Dean swayed his head, unsure of what to say. Truth was, he could easily get the concept. His father existed through his bad temper and the speech habit of swearing too much, through the green of his eyes and the shape of his nose, and his mother not only through the undertones of Sam's voice, but through the lightness in Dean's hair and the recipes she'd invented and left behind, too. Both of his parents' souls existed in Heaven although separation didn't feel any less hard knowing that.

"You feel any better?"

"Yes, thank you."

A few more minutes of rest, and the angel forced his grace to go searching the hospital and its surroundings for Frankie and Jesse. He flew like a bird whose wings had been seriously wetted, lame and chaotic. Angels were generally able to fly in a way so fast that it defied space and time, and that was what "teleportation" really was. Not this time. He was slower than usual, though still fast enough so that his flight couldn't be perceived by man, and landed wrong each new place.

Castiel went back to Dean in the same manner, crashing down instead of landing gracefully. As soon as Dean heard the flutter of his wings, he turned around to see Cas bending. One second later his knees hit the floor. Dean ran to him, but he shook his head.

"Don't -- I'm fine. We should get moving, meet Sam."

"How are we gonna do that? All I have is one bullet left and you look like shit. Isn't there any way to make your mojo charge faster?"

"No... I mean yes, but-"

"That's all I need, no 'buts'. What is it?"

"In order to 'charge' faster I need to touch a soul, take from its energy."

"Alright, let's do this."

"Dean. It's very unpleasant. And the intimacy I was talking about earlier, it'll all be gone."

"It doesn't matter. It's you." Although Dean meant those words, he was nervous - incredibly nervous.

Undressing all of the layers, and letting someone - anyone - see him spiritually naked was scary. To be your original self is harder than being whatever you have grown up to be.

Castiel palmed Dean's chest as if searching for something, careful and dexterous like a cat kneading its owner's lap. When he found a right spot, he pushed - he pushed through the sternum, not piercing the bone, his skin, and flesh, but incandescent light, pure and warm. Dean didn't know where it came from, if it was the light of his soul, Castiel's grace, or the fusion between the two - he didn't dare to ask.

It hurt in a way, foreign to him; the man was pretty sure that if he ever went under surgery without anesthesia, it would probably feel like that. The angel cut him open and rummaged through his being.  
Intangible organs called feelings, thoughts, memories, desires - once he came in contact with Dean's soul, Castiel could see them all like a movie on fast-forward. Its vividity fed his grace, it filled his veins, reanimating his wings. Not entirely, but it was a nice power boost. As he retracted his hand, Dean exhaled heavily. Then he inhaled as much air as he could.

"Fuck" He growled, clutching at the angel's sleeve for support.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice was now much more vibrant. "Did I take too much of your soul energy?"

"I don't even know what 'too much' means at the moment." With Cas' hand, the pain in his chest dissappeared too, but Dean was still mentally fixated on the sensation, unable to snap out of it for several minutes.

-

The plan was theoretically simple: get fuel, return to the car, get Sam, return to the camp. Practically, things didn't go very well.  
They flew a couple of kilometers away, which meant the nearest gas station there was, only to find that the place had already been claimed by some fallen angels. As soon as they recognized Dean as human, they jumped head first into an uneven battle. Cas and Dean won anyway, with Dean throwing his last bottle bomb at one of them, burning the guy alive (or dead?), and Cas slitting the throats of the other two. But in the middle of the heat, the keys of the Impala were lost.

It didn't take Dean too long to lose his patience. He kicked a recycle bin, hand pulling the skin of his face towards one side. Castiel watched him from a corner as he sweared and paced around nervously.

"I doubt this helps." He told him. As if Dean didn't know. He was just so frustrated that each time they climbed a mountain, another one higher was waiting for them on the other side. Couldn't they just win for once? No side effects. No consequences.

"Are you sure you had them on you?"

"Damn right, I'm sure. I'm not stupid." Dean snapped.

"I didn't... Dean, you don't have to raise your voice at me. I hear well. And so do the others, I shall remind you."

"Sorry, alright? It's like they freaking vaporized."

Castiel's body suddenly stiffened, his sight fixed. Dean raised an eyebrow - he wanted to ask what was wrong. But he was grabbed by the jacket and tossed on the ground before he ever got to do so. Castiel rolled with him on the dirty floor as the windows of the Gas Station's store shattered into pieces. It rained glass above them. Dean had to cover his ears to muffle the piercing sound that caused that. The walls trembled. And Castiel yelled something in enochian, his voice barely audible. Dean wasn't sure what was going on. When a blinding light intruded, he called for Dean, telling him not to stare directly into it.

But it was too late.

Dean blinked and found himself on a field filled with the melody if a nightingale. A delicate breeze was blowing the small purple flowers that were sprinkled across. The moon was of an absolute white against the black of the sky. He couldn't remember where he was before that. It wasn't too long before he realized he was not alone.

A person, maybe a man, with glowing face and body was standing in front of him. His features were almost translucent, hard to discern although... Dean somehow knew he was smiling. He radiated not only light, but warmth too. Discoloured and frightning, he looked like a ghost, but the shining, enormous wings indicated his real nature -- an angel.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, fascinated by the creature.

"Constantine." He introduced himself. Speaking without opening his mouth, his voice was a breeze itself. Unlike a breeze, it didn't go unnoticed.

"Where am I?"

"Some place quiet . Do you like it?"

Dean looked around, the same song of a nightingale playing in the background. It was serene. A nice sight. But he couldn't help but feel like he was supposed to be somewhere else. He didn't know why, he couldn't remember where.

"I guess."

"Your mind is a turbulent place. I hardly found a corner where I could talk to you."

"Wait a minute. We're inside my mind? I don't recognize this place!"

"On Otober 30th, 1988 - you fell asleep within your sleep while chasing a nocturnal bird across this field. One your most peaceful dreams."

"Yeah, but I... I do have other happy places in my mind."

"Yes? For instance?"

"Uh -- any memories regarding my childhood up until my mom died, then my early teenage years -- the weekends spent with dad and Sammy at the cabin."

It took a blink for Dean to find himself outside the cabin. The smell of barbeque invaded his nose instantly. Turning around, he saw his father and his brother chatting. John seemed to be explaining the mechanics of a rifle to Sam, who was struggling to stay awake.

Dean initially thought he was kind of invisible to them. John proved him wrong when he called for him, telling him to lay the table so they could eat. He nodded - because what could he do? - and went inside where he met the angel again.

"Is this a good memory? Would you like to stay in it?"

Dean frowned. "Stay?" He said breathlessly. "But this is not real..."

"Trust me, reality is harsh, and you don't want to take part in it. Here is where you should wish to stay. Here, your life will forever be happy - because what else can a reality made of happy memories can be? All you have to do is accept me."

"How...?"

The angel approached, his light and warmth embracing him patiently, soothing him like a nursery rhyme.

"Take my hand and say yes."

"How about... How about Castiel?"

"Who is Castiel?"

"I don't... I don't know. It's just something about the name that makes me feel he is, well, I don't know. Important."

"Don't worry about Castiel. He will be fine."

Dean tried to protest, but Constantine's presence was psychedelic.

"Say yes, Dean."

His dry lips parted, ready to oblige, when a loud thunder cut him off. A rainstorm started although... it had been sunny earlier. Dean was with his back at the door, facing Constantine who saw something -- someone behind him.

"Hello, brother." He greeted. Dean wasn't sure if he should turn around or not. His surroundings vanished, diffused like a hologram. The hall of the cabin was replaced by a deserted place -- not quite a desert, because the rain persisted, but nothing was around beside emptiness. The warmth in Constantine's light was replaced by malevolence, so he felt the need to take a step back.

"Say it." Constantine insistence didn't sit well with Dean, or with the one he just called "brother".

"Don't do it, Dean." The man threw a look over his shoulder to see another angel. This one's voice had more resonance in his head. Emanating effortless beauty and vigor, with a bigger twin pair of black wings, and a golden crown-like halo, he shined with so much intensity. From head to toe, every piece of him was light. Blinding, immaculate light. 

"Cas?" Dean raised a hand to attenuate the brightness, his green eyes narrowing involuntarily. The memory of who he was was slowly coming back to him. Dean's feet started moving towards him. Castiel didn't need to say a word, his presence was magnetic enough. With his arms wide open, Castiel waited. Dean was ready to let himself melt in the warmth of his embrace when a second force began pulling him in the opposite direction.

Then everything happened like a tornado. The two angel battled, and Dean somehow was caught in the middle of it. 

Suddenly, the lights went off in his head. The place was blacker than black and completely silent. He had no idea how, but _he knew_ his eyes were closed - not inside his mind, but in reality. So he struggled to lift his eyelids, to escape the darkness. And, after consecutive failed attempts, he finally did.

The image before him was blurred, and the grave voice calling his name was stifled. Someone was shaking him desperately. He acknowledged his feet, he acknowledged his arms, and the other parts of his body, but he couldn't move them. He was limb all over, except his face. 

After blinking a few times, the image turned clear. The first thing he saw was Castiel's face - or at least, the face of his vessel. Nevertheless, it was Castiel. His blue eyes watched him as he regain his consciousness. He watched him with attention and stiffness - even his  breathing stopped. 

"Dean." He called less desperately this time, although some kind of worry still lingered in his voice.

"Cas... Where's... this?"

Castiel kept quiet, so Dean had to discover the answer on his own. Looking around, he recognized the shape of the walls, the statue of Mary, the pew... "Ah -- the church. We were at th--" He paused to cough. It itched his throat, and his chest. "...station."

Castiel bowed his head, biting his lip in the process. 

Dean noted they were sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, and against each other. The angel had a hand placed strategically on his abdomen, pressing down a bloody piece of clothing. Dean wished he could feel the pressure, but he felt nothing.

It finally occurred to him that he was dying.

"Constantine..."

"Constantine was real?" 

"He tried to gain control over your body. I..."

"You cast him out." Another round of coughing. 

"Yeah. But I was too late." 

Castiel looked helpless and fragile. And when he confessed, "I don't have enough grace to heal you.", he understood why.

He was going to die.

He soon became light-headed. Castiel begged him to stay awake, telling him he'd already slipped in and out of consciousness a few times. He told him that in the middle of the chaos, he said "yes" to Constantine, which gave the angel a short-live control over his body. Everything happened extremely fast. Now that he had Dean's approval, his next target was his soul, to cast it out. But Castiel was faster and smited Constantine before he could do so -- but not before he used Dean's hands to stab himself.

"Do you think I'm still going to Heaven?"

The angel thought for a minute. "It doesn't matter." He concluded. "If you end up in Hell, I will drag you back out."

"You don't need to do anything. Just stay here with me. Talk to me."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything but this."

Seeing that Castiel wouldn't speak another word, Dean took the wheel. His breath came out hot.

"You said you wanted a dog?"

"A cat."

"Okay, a cat. What would you want to name it?"

"Rain."

 "You really like rain, don't you? Because you guys don't have rain in Heaven...?"

"It's true, it never rains in Heaven. Everyday it's sunny and warm -- and everyone is happy. Everything is good, always."

Dean sighed. "Boring."

"Perhaps."

A pause.

"Don't you ever sit and think it's our fault? The Apocalypse... Everything...?"

"I thought you didn't want to talk about this."

"Do you?"

"No. I don't think it's our fault."

"How? If we didn't meet, none of this would've happened."

"That's not true. While I do belive in free will, I don't believe in cause and effect. You've taught me that choice is yours, and it's true we can alter little things, but never the big picture. In other words, all roads lead to the same place, but at least it's up to you which story you remain with in your final moments."

"Ain't that sad? That no matter what you do, you'll still end up in the same place anyway? "

"I prefer to...  take a positive outlook on life and appreciate the fact that we don't have to worry about an ending that's already been written for us."

"You, child." Dean laughed tiredly. Castiel smiled softly. As a contradiction, his sockets filled with tears, tears that rolled down his cheeks like strings of water hanging from his eyelashes. 

"Don't cry." Dean's head was resting on his shoulder, eyes staring off into space. Castiel wondered how could he know.

He closed his eyes, rested his own head on top of Dean's, and continued to cry. He couldn't help his vessel. 


	25. Holler

Castiel's cheeks dried out. His hand was soaking in blood. Dean lost his consciousness again. Due to the fight with Constantine, the amount of grace he had left was so little that even if he used all of it in an attempt to heal him, it still wouldn't have been enough. 

He stared at his crimson fingers, the visible veins on his wrist, comparing them to Dean's. He was cold, very cold -- and slowly turning lila. 

He got up, careful not to disturb Dean too much, and he prayed. Not to God, or some other angel, not to Mary or some other savior. He rather _summoned_  through the power of thought the only one capable to help them. Someone he'd once met, and didn't think he would want to see again.

And after a few moments of dead silence and waiting, he appeared.

"Lucifer."

"Long time, no see, little brother. I suppose you didn't call me to check in, did you?"

"I called to make a deal."

Lucifer gasped theatrically, beginning to circle the younger angel. "No! No... Castiel? -- the innocuous, sanctimonious, righteous, _daddy's favorite_ , Castiel wants to make a deal? Speaking of, what didn't you go to pop for help?"

"Father is not answering my prayers."

"Ahhh. And what do folks do when their God doesn't answer their sad, silly little prayers? That's right. They go crying to the devil."

"I want you to spare Dean and expell all of the angels back to Heaven."

"You want me to wipe all this shit clean? What makes you think I have the power to do that?"

"You rule Hell, I know what you are capable of."

"Okay. Here's another impediment: I don't like you, so why would I do that for you?"

"It shouldn't matter. I called to make a deal. Treat me like any of your clients."

"I apologize for the lack of professionalism. I haven't been able to seal a deal in a long time because, you know, there are hardly any people left to seal deals with, obviously."

"Will you do it?"

"I don't know what to say about that. I mean, me and other Hell residents, we kinda enjoy the show you got going on here on Earth. It's a Friday night's favorite." Lucifer raised his thumbs up.

"It would be a shame if it got cancelled."

"Stop fooling around. Will you do it or not?"

"Oh! Big boy's all for business. Depends on what you have to offer me."

"My grace."

"Mmm. Nah, you have so little anyway."

"Fine. My soul."

"I have millions over billions of souls, why would I want your pathetic soul?"

"I... Don't have anything else to offer."

"Aw. But you were so confident I would want one of those."

"What is it that you really want from me?"

"Work for me. I could use a soldier like you."

"How could you think I would ever agree to work for you? "

"Com’on. You're so desperate to save Dean and the other... sad monkeys that you would give your soul for that. Wake up."

"Watch your mouth. Those monkeys are my friends."

"Fine. To save Dean and those monkey friends."

"No. I'm not going to work for you, Lucifer. I serve Heaven, not Hell."

"Really? Last time I checked you served human kind. More specifically, Dean Winchester."

"Choose another price."

"I swear to Dad I've never ever bargained so much with a customer before."

"Then I must be quite special since you aren't very eager to let me go just yet."

"Oh, but _you are_. You know that. I know that. Castiel, angels like you and I are born into this world to do great things. I see you as a... continuation of myself." Lucifer pointed a finger at Castiel. "Notice I said 'continuation'. I could've said 'copy', which would've been far more accurate since, well, He created you with my portrait in mind, gave you the nicest assets, made you immune to falling like me and so on, _buuuut_ \-- I didn't. Notice that. Man."

The devil paused to laugh copiously as Castiel watched the corners of his eyes wrinkle - silent, tired, impatient.

"I would've paid in souls to see His face when you. You, a perfect replacement of His dearest son, ended up having the exact same faith. Sure, the crime was different, but you fell. His most loyal, promising, the epitome of sanctity - _you._ " The satisfaction in Lucifer's voice was terrible. "Can you imagine His disappointment? His reaction when He realized He'd failed a second time in the same fucking manner?"

"You are not to speak for God."

"At least I've met Him. Have you? No you haven't, you poor little bastard." Lucifer sucked air sharply through his teeth and continued, calmer. "Wanna know why he didn't destroy me right away when I fell? Because he didn't have the heart to." He put his hand over his heart, mimicking sadness. "Instead, he cast me out of Heaven, thrown me in the pits of Hell, where, not to brag or anything, I happened to attract a bit of attention. I mean, I was an only angel among demonic entities and filthy, tortured souls. They made me their king. He must've..."

For a brief moment, he looked thoughtful, his fingers feeling his stubble idly.

"Yes, He must've known that would happen... He knows everything. Being thrown in the land of the damned was supposed to be a punishment, but over time I've come to the conclusion that... It was actually my true mission, you know? Now I wonder. Since you fell, but not in the nasty sense of the word since you aren't affected by this angelic plague... What are His plans for you? Why did he create you? What is your... purpose here? Hmm..."

"You talk too much, way too much. I asked you something. Change the price."

"As you wish. My new price is your pair of wings."

Castiel frowned. "What would you need my wings for?"

"Oh, no need. I just think it would be hilarious to see an angel with no wings. Just imagine."

"You are an angel yourself, how could you?"

"You know me. Solidarity has never been my forté. Also, to make it more interesting you'll have to choose. You either save Dean or expell the angels."

"What?"

"That's because you took Sam Winchester from my arms the moment you two convinced him to stop using black magic."

"You can't do that!"

"And he was such a good disciple..."

"Lucifer."

"Did you say something? Yeah, I think the price is a little low, too. How about your wings, and your immortality?"

"You ask for two things, I only get one in return! This is not fair."

"Please, you have me confused with someone who gives a crap."

"Fine. My wings and my immortality."

"For?"

Castiel gazed down at Dean. He lied to him. He did feel responsible - guilty in the strongest sense, yet no regret attached to it. Love was a terrible crime. Or maybe just the love he carried for Dean was. It made him think selfishness was okay. That any sacrifice was worth it.

Castiel had found somebody he didn't wish to share, or let go of. Having no care for the consequences he was perfectly aware of, he continued to hold onto his love tight. And sank deeper and deeper, inevitably dragging Dean down with him.

The other angels fell straight from the infinite blue, but somehow he still managed to hit the ground the hardest of them all, despite being the one closest to the ground.

"Expell the angels."

"Sorry? Can you say that louder?"

"You heard me. Expell the angels."

"No, shit." Lucifer said slyly with a hint of surprise. "So this is your final decision. You'd rather save whatever's left of this dirty planet instead of your lover boy's soul here? It'll rot in Hell, you know?"

"I have not lied with him."

"But the sin is not about sex. The sin is about intimacy, you should know that. The holy law says 'he, who had known angels other ways than through prayer shall burn, bla, bla...' Am I _not_ right?"

"You... You are."

"Sorry, Cassie. Dean's soul takes the elevator a few floors _down_." 

Lucifer offered his hand, and Castiel took it, giving it a strong shake. Then, the devil vanished. 

Suddenly, there was no weight on his back. In spite of the loss, he felt heavier. Thousands of lights ascended - angels, returning to Heaven - and the sky lit up, little by little. 

He inhaled sharply and let out, a shaky breath, overwhelmed and tired, but most of all sad. 

He turned his sight back to Dean, only to see a Reaper standing next to him. Reapers were terrible beings. Cruel and neutral by nature, their job was to simply take and escort people to the limbo where they would be judged. Reapers would often appear in human form because their real face was so gruesome it scared souls away. 

Castiel looked eyes with the Reaper who had already collected Dean's soul in a briefcase. It was an old man in suit & tie this time. Last time he encountered such creature, it was disguised in a young lady. 

The Reaper bowed in a salute. 

Castiel looked the other way.

He soon found himself sitting in the Impala. Sam was probably still waiting for him and his brother in that pharmacy, not too far from the car. But Castiel just sat there, empty and quiet. Ten minutes passed, and he fell asleep in the driver's side with little intention to wake up.


	26. King of pawns

Blueberry skies, grayish blue houses, soaked dark blue people rushing down the street. The heavy drops were also cold against the top of their heads. With shudder in their hearts, they searched shelter. The poor horizon had been swallowed by darkness. Occasional thunder kept it company.

He could hear the radio. A sleep-inducing white noise - terrible for him, who was struggling to wake up from slumber. He believed it was the radio. The frequency was unstable.

He listened carefully: the cry of a guitar, light tapping to the rhythm that didn't come from the radio, then a five o'clock news guy killing the vibe of the song and chasing the said tapping away. He went on about some fresh murder in Pennsylvania.

"So much of a nice Sunday. Rainstorm and murder." Dean's voice. Clear. Unmistakable. Right next to him. Castiel wanted to wake up so bad, to open his eyes and speak. But he was trapped within himself.

Shuffling. Then the radio was muted. All he heard now was rainfall and city sounds - if he tried hard enough, he could hear Dean's breathing too. The angel identified a familiar smell - of old leather and pin three. And suddenly he realized that, even if his eyes refused to see, his hands were much more cooperative and moved at ease. He touched his stomach, going up to his chest - a seatbelt. So he first guess wasn't wrong, he was in a car. Now more than before, he was positive that was the Dean's Impala he was sleeping in.

He couldn't remember where he was before that. Why was he even sleeping in the first place when he didn't need to? How come he wasn't able to wake up? Was he that tired? Being half-conscious, half-unconscious felt odd. He was somehow aware of his surroundings, but unable to participate.

He kept wondering things, and his voice was alone in his mind until another voice came and called his name. Castiel was unsure of who that warm, incredibly soothing voice belonged to.

Light. His mind was inundated with light. The eye of his mind couldn't watch; staring right into was guaranteed blindness. It closed. And when it opened, the eye of his vessel was the one to open.

The image in front of him started as blurry, becoming clearer as he blinked a few times. All of his senses reawakened. His forehead was resting against the humidity of the window. The tips of his fingers were cold, not because the temperature inside the car was low (on the contrary, Dean had turned on the heater), but because his hands were usually cold like that.

Something was coming back at him. Flashbacks of blood, pain, death. Dean died. The Apocalypse.

He remembered.

His eyes widened as he suppressed a gasp. His head turned to the left, his eyes meeting Dean's, who didn't seem surprised to see Castiel at all. His arm was resting comfortably on the frame of the window, hand supporting the chin.

"Where are we?" Castiel asked huskily.

"Gas‘n‘Sip, Kansas? Oh - you fell asleep on the way. I didn't bother waking you up."

"How...? What are we doing here?"

"Uh. Waiting for my idiot brother... " The man peeked at his silver shining wrist watch. "For almost five hours now. Isn't that lovely?"

"Sam?" Castiel's jaw dropped. He shook his head involuntarily as of saying "no, impossible."

"Yeah. Who else?" Deab answered, his gaze abandoning his face to take a look outside, catching Sam just exiting the store. He honked at him, long and loud, and the annoying sound attracted insults from a couple of people passing by. Sam raised his hand in the air mouthing "what?".

"Look at him walking like a princess. I told him the hair is slowing him down."

"Dude, what?" Sam soon entered the car, wetted by rain. He tossed the grocery bag he had on him to the opposite side of backseat, away from him, proceeding to take of his jacket.

"What do you mean what? What the hell took you so long?"

"Look, I had to wait in the line."

"And let me guess. That was a two-meter line."

"No. It was a one customer line - an old lady who paid in coins. Coins, Dean."

"Alright, alright. I got it."

"She bought a toaster that costed one hundred dollars fifty eight, and she counted. Every. Single. Cent."

"You should've pushed her aside."

Sam laughed ironically. "That's what you'd do. I have manners."

"If manners make you wait one hour in a line, then no thanks. Did you get the biscuits?"

"Yeah, I got your little monster's biscuits."

"Chicken or fish?"

"Freaking beef, I don't know. Let me check. Uhh -- fish."

"Good."

Castiel listened to the brothers' conversation without intervention. When the words ceased, and Dean turned the key to start the car, his spine instantly jerked up from the back of the seat as he asked panicky:

"Where are we going?"

"Home." Dean said as a matter of fact.

"Where is home?" He wanted to ask. But he didn't. He let the driver drive, and he drove on a familiar road, following a familiar route.

Castiel took a mental step back to process everything.

They were in Kansas, not somewhere near Silicon Valley. Sam walked in and out of a store, passing by several men and women without being attacked. There was an old lady in front of the line who bought a toaster and paid in coins. A human old lady, apparently. So people were suddenly people again and not angel-possessed meatsuits. Moreover, Dean was driving them home, and by "home" he most likely didn't mean the stadium.

Far in the distance, he spotted Dean's house. His heart stopped. He kept quiet. He kept quiet, he swallowed his words despite having so many. He feared that if he ever opened his mouth the dream would end. It all felt so real it couldn't be a dream though. Still, he didn't want to risk ruining whatever that was. So Castiel just went along with it and kept his mouth shut.

Dean parked the car in the garage and knocked for him to get out, ending up opening the door for him when the angel simply sat there, ignoring him while staring right through him at the same time. He led him inside as Sam followed behind.

"Hey, Rain." Dean greeted a black cat with emerald eyes coming at them. He grabbed a packet of biscuits from the paper bag Sam had come back with from Gas‘n‘Sip earlier. The said biscuits were fish-shaped; Dean lured her with them, and she walked with him to a round bowl where he poured her some. Next to that red bowl, there was another one, purple, filled with water. A little sneez came out of the man.

"Rain?" Castiel raised an eyebrow, forgetting to close his lips after pronouncing her name. He began wondering around like a lost kid. He used to know the house like the back of his hand. Now it looked different. Firstly, Dean's bedroom had lost its boyish aspect, it had been redecorated. Secondly, Sam's bedroom was lively. That could only mean Sam lived with them.

The garden was in full bloom, perfume of lily and rose invading his nostrils as soon as he put his foot on the soft green grass. It was more than he'd left behind the day they'd left for Sam's graduation.

"Cas?" Dean called from the house. Castiel turned around and went to see what he needed.

"Cas, we've been gone for two days. Your garden's fine."

"Gone where?" The question escaped Castiel's lips. Dean and Sam exchanged dumbfounded looks.

"Are you... are you okay?" Dean asked carefully.

"The concert." Sam answered. When the angel just frowned, he felt the need to explain further. "The Ozzy concert Dean'd waited to attend like three weeks?"

"The concert. Of course, the concert. I think I'm going to sleep now, I must be very tired." Castiel fled. He headed for the bedroom, but not without hearing Dean murmuring "I'll be back." to Sam.

The angel crashed into an armchair and Dean soon caught up with him. He closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards. He wasn't ready to have that conversation.

"So are you gonna tell me what's wrong or...?"

"Or what?"

"Or do I need to get disgustingly gushy to make you tell me?"

"Like the couples in the movies Sam watches?"

Dean chuckled, nodding. "Like the couples in the crappy romantic dramas Sam watches."

Castiel knew Dean hated the romance genre because he thought it was too cliché. He knew because Dean had walked him through all of the movie genres and all of the music genres, and he'd spent so much time teaching him about trivial things like that. So it didn't feel right to say "nothing" when Dean asked "what's wrong?".

"Everything is wrong."

Dean pursed his lips and frowned. "Oh. Everything. Just that?"

"You really don't remember?" Castiel got up and locked gazes with Dean.

"I could ask you the same thing. Where have you been this couple of days? Weren't you with me and Sam? You act like you don't remember anything about the concert."

"The concert? Dean, how about the fallen angels? The apocalypse? Do you even remember Samandriel?"

"Yes." Dean nodded slowly. He had an incredulous expression on his face. "I do remember Alfie. But the apocalypse? I might've skipped that episode."

"The angels - they continued to fall."

"No, Cas. They didn't."  
Silence fell upon the room as Castiel's stomach tossed and turned with uneasiness. Dean didn't remember. Sam probably was just as amnesic.

_What did he do now?_

He couldn't stand the way Dean looked at him like he was crazy when he was clearly the only one sane still. Or maybe not. Maybe he was slipping into dementia.

They let the subject hanging in the air.  
Castiel, Dean and Sam had dinner together. Having Sam around the house was apparently a bliss since he cooked some decent tomato spaghetti with meatballs and a great pan-seared strip steak.

Dean and Sam laughed and talked about things Castiel didn't know about, as the cat was curling around his leg under the table. He kept sneaking bits of his food to her even though Dean told him not to - because if she got used to human food, she wouldn't eat cat food anymore. The rest of the evening was spent with her.

Rain was an intelligent and playful creature. He petted her, and snuggled her, and he even engaged in a one-sided conversation with her. The lack of verbal response didn't bother him. The glow in her eyes said enough. She seemed loved and well-groomed, having a red medallion collar with her own name around the neck. According to Dean, she was four months old. Dean looked at Cas weirdly when he asked, because he had to ask how old their cat was in the first place.

Later that night when Sam went to sleep, and Dean, dressed in his comfy robe, nudged him, asking him if he wanted to come to bed with him, Castiel said he'd rather stay up a little longer.

-

The next morning was even more confusing.

Castiel climbed down the stairs, lured into the kitchen by a strong coffee smell. Sam was there on his laptop, typing vigorously. Dean was sitting next to him, eating some peanut butter and jelly when he came, and as soon as he saw Cas, he got up and poured the angel a cup of coffee, half-whispering: "How did you sleep?"

"Good." Castiel couldn't understand the meaning of the question. He knew there was hidden meaning behind it.

"You talked in your sleep." There it was.

"What did I say?" Castiel asked, unphazed.

"Nothing." Dean's gaze shied away.

"You called my name. Did you have a nightmare?" His right hand proceeded to pour another cup of coffee - this one for him, most likely - while his left hand rested on the edge of the counter.

Castiel took the chance and covered his left hand with his palm, his touch cooling down the typical warmth in Dean's skin. He gave it a little squeeze too. The man looked up, meeting Cas' blue eyes again.

"You two are adorable!" Sam chirped, still typing.

"Shut up." Dean snapped at him, handing a cup to Castiel.

The coffee was soon gone in-between replies. They chatted about whatnot. Castiel found out that Benny was alive and well, living in Silicon Valley. He and Dean were long-distance friends.

He found out that Sam was actually working. After graduation, he had been hired as a legal consultant by a corporation, which was both good and strange. Just like the fact that Dean had a job, too.

He put on his jacket and kissed Castiel goodbye, apologizing for leaving him alone with Rain. Sam shouted at him to remind his brother he was still around, that Castiel wasn't going to be alone. Dean rolled his eyes. He was about to go out on the door when the angel grabbed his sleeve and frowned.

"Job?"

Once again, the Winchesters exchanged looks that made Castiel feel stupid.

"Cas." Dean looked hurt. "You know, the garage... I did hire some kids, but I'm still the one managing the business so I gotta drop by from time to time."

"I know you had plans, but you never..."

"I never what?"

"Forget it..."

"Okay? I won't stay long. We'll... talk when I get home."

"Okay."

-

The angel was confused and he didn't even bother to act differently anymore. He demanded answers Dean couldn't give him. Nobody could. Benny didn't remember. Frankie and Charlie didn't, either. It was weird how all of their acquaintances and some of their good friends were ex-residents of the Cole O'Connor Stadium. Not a single person remembered.

Castiel couldn't complain about the universe he'd been thrown in. He was home, his home on Earth, he had a cute cat named Rain, and a blooming garden, his friends were alive, but most importantly, Dean was alive - and happy. He had his own business and lived with him and his little brother whom he loved a lot. It was a dream life - a truly, terribly terrific life. Yet he needed to understand how was that possible.

A few nights later he came to bed late. By now, Dean was used to going to sleep alone. Castiel felt bad for that. He had spent the entire day in the garden, trimming and watering. Rain kept him company. It was pitch black outside when he opened the door of the bedroom, careful not to wake Dean up. Surprisingly, he wasn't asleep yet. He was layed on his side, phone placed in his hands.

"Hey. I'm texting Charlie. She says hi." ****

"I'll tell her you said hi." Dean spoke again after a long silence as Cas slid under the covers with him. After a few more messages he left his phone on the nightstand, sitting up to be at the same level as his counterpart. His back rested against the headboard.

"Why don't we let Rain sleep in bed with us?" Cas asked absently.

"Because I'm allergic to cats... Do you wanna hear me sneezing all night?"

"Then why did you buy a cat?"

"Because you wanted one."

"I should've wished for a dog."

"Don't say that." There was a pause, then Dean added: "It doesn't bother me that much." He proceeded to turn the lamp off. Another click was heard, and the lamp was immediately turned back on. The conversation wasn't over.

"What about Lucifer?"

Castiel's eyes widened. "Lucifer?" What did _Dean know about the deal?_

"Yeah... My name wasn't the only one you called in your sleep the other day."

"I... There is no point in explaining. I've already tried a few times and you... didn't seem to take me seriously."

"Please tell me, I'll listen this time."

"I don't know what to tell you. The world ended. I was there. And you were there, too, Dean. Sam, too. You died. And I... I didn't save you. I could have saved you, but..."

"But?"

"I just... didn't."

"Cas." Dean said, softer. "I'm trying to help. I _want_ to help you, but you act like you're recovering from something I don't remember ever happening."

Castiel sighed.

"I am alone." He realized. 

Dean snorted. "Alone? What the hell am I to you?"

Castiel thought for a moment. "You are a lot of things... My partner - my lover and my friend."

"Yeah, so? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you mean the same to me?"

"It has-"

"Then how can you say you're alone? When I'm right in front of you."

"Dean-"

"You aren't alone, you stupid son of a bitch. You aren't. Not as long as I'm around. Get this straight in that head of yours."

A simple reassurance made with too much passion, and Castiel suddenly didn't feel alone anymore. But the vortex in his stomach still wouldn't settle. The burning frustration caused by what was unknown to him was too big. Castiel needed to find a reasonable answer to their redemption.

Time passed, and Dean still didn't remember, although he believed him. He believed Castiel when he told him about everything they'd been through during the dying days of the world, the setting of the Heaven. He told him how the angels fell, and how they fought against them, about how good of a leader Dean was, omitting certain details Castiel didn't feel like adding.  
Castiel was slowly re-adapting to peace. On the down side, his memory was becoming sluggish, like a soft blanket with rough patches. He and Dean went grocery shopping one evening and he bought himself a journal to write the story down so he would never forget. In spite of being a terrifying experience, it was part of him.

One other evening he was in the garden, on the little bench, just finishing a passage when Dean shouted at him that he had a visitor. Castiel put the journal down and went inside, where he spotted Chuck by the main door. Dean passed by him muttering something (something like "Is he a friend of yours?"), only to disappear into the living room a few seconds later, without waiting for an answer. Didn't Dean remember Chuck? He remembered everyone else.

"Hello, Castiel." Chuck said, grinning.

"Hello."

"What a lovely home." The man gestured awkwardly around the room.

"I like the 70s feeling of it."

"It was bought in the 1972..." Castiel started cautiously. "By Dean's parents."

"Yeah, yeah. I especially like the floral wallpaper in the kitchen." Chuck pointed towards the general direction of the kitchen, but he couldn't really see inside because the door was mostly closed.

"How... do you know that?"

"Oh. I've been here before." Chuck let out an airy laugh as his legs walked him from corner to corner. Admiring the place, he gaped at every piece of furniture, every picture. Castiel followed him around, confused, both ending up in the kitchen eventually. The floral wallpaper in shades of yellow, pink, soft green and orange greeted them as they stepped in there.

"Then why doesn't Dean remember you?"

"Dean doesn't remember a lot of things, does he?"

Castiel's skin crawled. His eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you talking about?"

Chuck dodged the question; he intentionally - it looked intentional to Castiel - shifted his attention to a little salt shaker shaped like a penguin that wowed him like it was the greatest thing in the world. Then he ran to the fridge and took a peek inside. Chuck was acting strange, even for him. For a human in general.

"Chuck."

"You got a lot of fruits and vegetables in here."

"Those are... Sam's."

"Oh, right. I almost forgot Sam always picks the greenest aliment on the shelf. Unlike his brother who's pretty much a fast food junkie. How about you, though? Do you feel the need to eat? Sleep? Eat and sleep?"

"No."

"Don't lie."

The angel let out a little snort. "What is the purpose of your visit, Chuck?"

"Seeing you, of course."

"Why?"

"Don't you like having me as a guest?"

"You're quite of a rude guest, if you ask me."

Instead of being offended, Chuck smiled largely at him. He leaned on the counter, crossed his arms, and continued to smile and stare at him. Castiel wasn't going to smile back very soon - he actually didn't feel like smiling at all. In fact, he was a bit creeped out.

"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?" Chuck was suddenly serious, his smile fading slowly.

"Are you... Are you saying there is something wrong with my vessel?"

"No, not wrong. Not with your vessel. Just you."

Castiel didn't know what Chuck meant by that. He glared into the nearest reflecting object - that happened to be a window - to see his much loved pair of wings spreading gracefully out of his spine. He shook his head frantically because that couldn't be true. His wings were Lucifer's, and a deal like that couldn't be broken.

Castiel looked at Chuck, sending numerous questions his way, yet only one he could verbalize: "Do you remember the end?"

"Let me see... Uh, yeah. I do."

"The... stadium? The fallen ones?"

"Yup."

"Everything?"

Chuck nodded casually.

Castiel's lips parted. He shivered.

"Why is it just us? How come nobody else remembers?"

This time, Chuck shrugged. "Do you think they'd be happier if they did?"

"No, but it would be fair."

"To who? To them or you? I'm sorry it's in an angel's nature to have a solid memory. Fortunately it's not uncrackable."

"I don't understand."

"All I'm trying to say is you'll be fine, Castiel. Trust me."

"I don't feel fine." Castiel's mouth trembled a little. "And I think I deserve an explanation."

"Alright. I guess the simplest explanation I could give you is that those without faith were punished, and those who had faith were rewarded."

"Am I being rewarded?" The angel asked incredulously. "Me? How could I be worth a reward when I brought calamity unto Earth through everything I've done?"

"The apocalypse had been secretly planned before you were even born. You were just a pretext." Chuck's features were sympathetic. 

"What...?"

"Enjoy your cozy life with Dean."

Chuck was already turning the doorknob to the main door when Castiel snapped out of shock and ran after him. 

"Wait!" He yelled. But the man continued to walk. Castiel asked him to wait a second time when he had already made about ten steps. Chuck turned around this time, staring back at Castiel with a confused and slightly panicked expression.

"Who are you?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it through all 26 chapters thank you! And sorry - for all the errors and the nonsense that is this 66.000+ word story I managed to vomit.


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